A Year In The Life
by Cloudwalker
Summary: Pre-Dorothy , back story on how Roger Smith became the man he is
1. Default Chapter

Prologue  
  
~  
  
It was approaching Heaven's Day. Voices full of pleasantries filled the chill air; everywhere  
  
one looked faces were creased with smiles. Even the Military Police were upbeat despite the  
  
seasonal overtime. The annual Policeman's Charity Ball was tonight. Good cheer seemed inevitable  
  
... for all but one inhabitant of Paradigm City.  
  
Roger Smith had been in a distinctly bad mood when he entered Major Dan Dastun's office.   
  
Although the officers outside could not hear the words exchanged, it was obvious from their  
  
body language that nothing Dastun was saying was cheering his old friend.  
  
Finally the two men shook hands. The black-clad negotiator strode out, not bothering even to   
  
flirt with the pretty secretary out front. In his haste he nearly knocked over an aide bringing  
  
hot coffee for the Major.  
  
"What a louse! What is it with that guy?" grumbled the young officer as he carefully set the  
  
steaming pot on his superior's desk.  
  
Dastun sighed."This is a very rough time of year for Mr. Smith. I guess in some ways he   
  
blames me." He poured out some coffee, offering it first to the aide who refused. Dastun took a  
  
small sip, then continued talking.   
  
"This all started a few years ago when Roger Smith was still a member of the Military   
  
Police. He was an excellent officer, very committed, but maybe a little too idealistic for his  
  
own good--sort of like Bonny Frazier."  
  
The younger man nodded, too astonished by his major's need to confide to respond verbally.  
  
"It was hard for Smith to accept that even our elite corp had been compromised. The desire  
  
for power and money is a common weakness. Smith believed (as do I) that it had no place in the  
  
Military Police. He just could not work past it. His anger was beginning to depress and eat  
  
away at him. Smith started to lose focus, get a little careless...he was going to get himself  
  
killed. I didn't want to lose a good man, a friend, like that. Talking did no good--he   
  
wouldn't listen. Roger needed to be brought back into the world fast... so I decided to do   
  
something crazy."  
  
Dastun stopped short, suddenly aware that he was talking too much.  
  
"Well, to make a long story short, things didn't go the way I'd hoped. Lieutenant, you  
  
are dismissed."  
  
Not feeling especially enlightened, the young officer saluted and returned to his duties.  
  
Dastun sat quietly back in his chair. Even he didn't know all the details and it was his   
  
loss too. He suddenly wanted to get very drunk, to blot out the memory of that awful look on  
  
Roger Smith's face. He wondered if Smith would get drunk tonight too.  
  
  
  
~Chapter 1 (Three Years Earlier)  
  
Major Dan Dastun was sitting at his desk, talking heatedly into his phone:"Look, just  
  
be there!" He slammed the receiver down, startling the lieutenant entering his office.   
  
"Sir!" the handsome young officer smartly snapped a salute.   
  
"At ease, Smith, and shut the door. I need to talk to you" growled the major.  
  
Roger Smith quickly obeyed. From his grimly puzzled expression it was clear he expected  
  
a dressing down, though he didn't have a clue why. He took a deep breath and waited for  
  
Major Dastun to continue.  
  
"Smith, you are aware that the Policeman's Ball is tomorrow night?"  
  
"Huh?" Roger's expression shifted from grimly puzzled to merely puzzled. "Um, yes,   
  
Sir."  
  
"Are you planning to attend?"  
  
"Am I--no Sir, I am not."  
  
"So, do you have some important reason for this decision?"  
  
Roger was totally confused now. What was Dastun doing?  
  
"No Sir. I was just going to stay home...nothing special."  
  
Dastun nodded."Well, Lt. Smith, I have an important assignment for you. You are the   
  
only officer that is qualified for this." He paused, watching the effect of his words on the   
  
young man's face. I have to do this right, he thought, or it will sound ridiculous.  
  
"You are attending the Policeman's Ball. Your uniform will be perfect. You are going to be  
  
the escort of a woman there, and I expect you to make me proud." There. It was out. Roger would  
  
probably think him a fool for the rest of both their lives.  
  
For his part, Roger Smith was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, shut it, swallowed hard.  
  
His surprise ripped down the walls of rank:  
  
"Dastun, are you setting me up on a blind date? You can't be serious!"  
  
The major interrupted him. "I am serious, damnit. Look, don't think of it as a date--   
  
it's a charity case, okay? Besides it's an order and you better not screw it up."  
  
Roger was fuming, but an order was an order. Besides, it wasn't as if Dastun pulled  
  
this sort of thing for the hell of it...he must have gotten his arm well twisted too. More  
  
political crap!  
  
Dismissed, the young office left the major's office and headed home to his cramped   
  
apartment. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
The huge space of the Great Hall was gorgeously bedecked, as were the human swarms crowding  
it. On the dance floor, the ladies' brilliant gowns shone in sharp contrast against the black   
tuxedos and blue dress uniforms of their partners. It was like watching a kind of living  
kaleidoscope, the colored patterns shifting in the smoky haze.  
Roger Smith had indeed followed orders. His dark blue dress uniform was perfectly pressed,  
his black boots and brass buttons gleamed like mirrors, not a strand of black hair was out of  
place.  
Even Dastun was impressed. He commented that the handsome young officer looked like a  
recruitment poster-boy. The major led Roger to a wetbar, telling him to wait til he (Dastun)   
returned with his "charity case." Dan then disappeared into the pulsating crowd.  
Five minutes dragged by, then ten. Bored, Smith decided to have a drink. Nursing it would  
at least give him something to do. He turned towards the bartender, got his drink. Idly, he  
continued to watch the barman work. The cheerful din drowned out less insistant sounds. Smith  
was totally unaware of the graceful young woman's approach until he heard her order a red wine.  
Something about her voice attracted his attention, and it wasn't merely because it was female.  
It was low, throaty, with just the faintest hint of a soft accent. Curious, Roger discreetly  
glanced sideways, then did a slow double-take. She was watching the dancers, looking away from   
him.  
The dark velvety fabric (was it blue,black, green? He couldn't tell) of her evening gown  
clung to every curve, its subtle sheen highlighting her well-toned athletic body. Her smooth  
black hair was coiled, a single silver hair stick holding it in place.  
She turned back to the bar for her goblet. Roger politely averted his gaze. She sipped  
her wine, again watching the crowd, then glanced at Roger doggedly staring into his glass.  
Apparently impressed by what she saw, she tried to strike up a conversation: "You don't seem  
to be enjoying yourself very much."  
Roger really liked her voice - the unfamiliar accent was fascinating. He straightened up,  
turning to answer her...and found himself looking directly (not down! She must be six feet tall)  
into one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen.  
Smooth ivory skin, elegant bone structure hinting at a Eurasian heritage, wonderful full  
mouth, and the most amazing eyes - large, almond-shaped, up-tilted ever so slightly, blue-green  
like some tropical sea...and all of it strangely familiar. The image of an ancient queen  
popped into his head...Nefertiti? Was that it?  
He took a breath. "Um," he stammered, the words don't make an ass of yourself thundering  
through his brain.  
She gestured gracefully towards the throngs of revelers: "This Ball is supposed to be for  
charity, yet they could do so much good with the resources they're blowing on themselves,  
celebrating their one day of generosity for the common folk. I hate going to these things."  
Hmmn, Roger thought, this evening might not be so bad after all - as long as Dastun  
stays lost. "Tell, he said smirking, "if you find this so distasteful, why'd you come?"  
Her emerald eyes widened at the remark. Oh, that's good Roger, went the little voice in  
Smith's head, piss her off (and really where HAVE I seen her before?) when she smiled at him.  
It was a sweetly crooked smile, full of mischief.  
"A fair question, and directly asked as well...I like that, Lieutenant...?"  
"Lieutenant Roger Smith, at your service, miss." He smiled instead of smirking this time.   
She proffered her right hand, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lt. Smith. I'm Dr. Rowan   
Daestar." Her white hand felt very nice in his - cool,firm, not wishy-washy at all. Smith   
briefly wondered what the rest of her felt like - stop it Roger, went his inner voice - and   
realized he'd seen her picture in the newspapers. Despite that, he found himself feeling very  
comfortable with her.  
"So, Dr. Daestar, I ask again, why are you here? Is it because your wealthy patients   
expect your presence? Do they know how much you dislike them? I imagine that wouldn't be very  
good for business."  
She narrowed her eyes, the green orbs gleaming like lasers. "You are a louse, Lt. Roger  
Smith, but an honest one...and I did deserve that. I rarely treat anyone anymore. I am a   
medical botanist now, but I work in a variety of fields. Fortunately, my primary occupation  
allows me to pursue a number of avocations." She played with the wine glass. "Anyway, I came  
because I had to. I made someone a promise, and I always keep my word." She looked back at  
him, flashing her smile. "Okay, your turn."  
Smith shrugged his broad shoulders. "I guess we have two things in common - I don't like  
being here either - and I had to attend also. I'm under orders from my superior to shepherd some  
woman if he ever shows up with her. I think it's a political thing. Anyway, he called her a  
'charity case' so I guess some higher-up called in a favor."  
"Charity case?" she echoed blankly.  
Uh oh, what did I say now? thought Roger. "I don't mean to be rude, I've never met the   
lady - those are my major's words..."  
"Ahhh," she breathed in that delicious voice..."and would that happen to be your major   
approching now?"   
"Wha?" Roger looked up as Dastun reached them. Before either man could speak, Rowan Daestar  
planted a kiss on the major's cheek.  
"Hello, Uncle Dan" she cooed. She smiled wickedly.  
"Uncle Dan?" Smith echoed this time, quickly figuring out what was afoot.   
She continued teasingly, "It's so nice to know your real opinion of me." The young woman  
gently shushed Dastun when he tried to speak. "I'm sure your fine lieutenant will be equally  
appreciative of being referred to as a charity case as well."  
Dastun's ears turned beet red; he began to talk and gesture rapidly: "Now, Ro, stop  
this. You know I don't really think of you that way - nor you Roger, don't look at me that  
way!"   
The lieutenant nearly choked stifling his laughter.  
"Uncle Dan, please explain yourself. You of all people know I don't like being  
manipulated this way." Her calm voice was belied by the green fire in her eyes. Her   
stillness was actually more intimidating than if she'd stared a scene.  
Man, thought Roger, this is one gal to watch. He'd never seen anyone make Dastun sweat.  
The major's shoulders sagged in defeat. "I am not going to argue with you, Ro. Just   
listen to me." His stern gaze swept for Rowan to Roger, then back again. "You are both -   
hear me Roger? - both locking yourselves up in your own angry little worlds. I can't stand  
by letting good people, people I care about, destroy themselves. But you're both too  
blasted stubborn to do what normal young people do...go out, do something different, have  
some fun for god's sake. Oh no, I couldn't set up a blind date - I HAD TO ORDER IT!"  
Dastun paused for a moment to see if his words had sunk in. "You know what? You ARE a couple  
of charity cases!" He stalked his way over to the bar. "I need a whiskey." He downed it neat,   
then turned back to his audience of two.  
"Okay, I did my good deed and got punished for it. The rest is up to you. Go." Dan gently  
shoved them towards the dance floor.  
~  
The next day brought a new Roger Smith to work. He didn't look different. He didn't really   
act different, as punctual and professional as always. It was just...he was cheerful even   
though it was only 8 A.M. He never smiled before noon; yet there he was, doing paperwork  
(which he hated) not only smiling but humming.  
Major Dan Dastun was quite pleased with himself. His niece had already thanked him. He   
hadn't heard her laugh so easily in a very long time.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

After the first few dates, things began to take a more serious turn for Roger. He felt  
connected to the intense young physician in many ways. Most of Roger's previous experiences with  
women had been fairly shallow flirtations to one degree or another. He'd never experienced  
genuine friendship with a female before. Rowan Daestar provided a level of companionship he   
never dreamt could exist.  
They shared a fierce curiousity about life, about their purpose in being in the world at  
this strange time, and a passion for trying to make the world right. They could, and did, talk  
and argue about almost anything with an openess new to Roger. It was as if he'd found a   
kindred spirit long lost. There were only two problems. Firstly, Rowan was very reluctant to   
get physically intimate. That was not a real difficulty for Smith - he felt the green-eyed   
beauty was worth the wait. It was the second problem that was starting to get to him. She was  
keeping most of her private life, well, private.   
Rowan would disappear for days at a time. Her phone number was an answering service.  
Smith had no idea where she lived. They would always meet at their destination. Even searching   
public records only revealed a handful of photos.  
Most men would have considered all the mystery too much trouble. Roger Smith found it  
irresistible. Ro was smart, sharp, independent, and gorgeous to boot. The woman was a   
challenge to his ego and his intelligence - certainly a better way to occupy his time than  
brooding over his disappointment with the Military Police. How could he not stay in the game?  
Soaping up in his narrow shower stall, Roger mulled over his possible strategies.   
Since he had the day off, he and Rowan were meeting for a late breakfast. Carefully choosing  
his clothes, the young man got dressed. He took one last look at himself in his mirror before  
leaving. Roger smoothed his gelled black hair, tugged his leather jacket so it would lay just  
so - he looked good. Smirking at his reflection, Smith decided to confront Ro directly. If  
I'm going to blow this, he thought, might as well get it over with early.  
Roger's resolve and his knees weakened as soon as he spotted his breakfast companion   
waiting for him. As usual, the lovely young woman was simply and elegantly dressed, this time  
in dark gray trousers and a softly fitted pale gray shirt. Her silky black hair hung braided   
down her back. The only makeup he could discern was her soft pink lipstick. As Roger approached,   
she glanced in his direction. Watching her beautiful face light up almost made her mysterious  
ways forgiveable...but not quite. Roger wanted more than Rowan was offering, much more.  
Smith held his tongue til the busboy had cleared the dishes off the table. It was now or  
never. "Rowan, you've made it very obvious that you are keeping me at arm's length. I enjoy the  
time we spend together and I think you do too...so what is going on? Do you think I can't be   
trusted?"  
He watched the muscles in her jaw briefly tighten, but went on anyway: "Even Dastun   
couldn't - or wouldn't - tell me anything. What are hiding that even your uncle doesn't  
know?" Smith reached his hand out, gently touching her blank face. "Are you married?"  
To his surprise she started to laugh.  
"Uhmm...what's so funny?"  
"Roger, I'm not married." She patted his hand, kissed it as well. "Also, I'm not giving  
you a hard time just for the hell of it either. I'm just trying to protect you, and Dan as   
well. My life is not simple."  
"Rowan Daestar, you are being unfair. I think I deserve some answers." He was genuinely   
bothered by this.   
Daestar studied his handsome face in silence. It felt as if her sea-green eyes were   
reading his soul.  
"Okay," she said, "but not here. I will answer anything you ask as best I can."  
They left the cafe, strolling down the street as they talked. Roger plunged right in:  
"What is your real relationship with Dastun? There are no complete records going back far enough   
(yes, I snooped) to see if he had brothers or sisters, and I'd find it hard to believe he's your  
father, or any kind of real relative. You two look and sound nothing alike."  
Rowan looked straight ahead as she answered. "You're a good detective, Roger Smith. You're   
right - we are not related by blood in any way. Dan...Major Dastun...knew my parents for many  
years...they fought side by side in the Underground during the dark times after the Event.   
My parents were murdered when I was a child. I managed to escape their fate, but was betrayed  
and recaptured a couple of years later. The authorities placed me in some sort of strange   
internment camp with other children...I guess a lot of us were orphaned then." Daestar took a  
deep breath, then continued in a flat quiet voice. "Somehow Dan found out I was still alive.  
He tracked me down, got me out. How he did that I will never know. Dan Dastun gave me   
sanctuary, hid me from my parents' killers. I can never repay the debt I owe him. I can only  
try to keep him safe."  
Roger was shocked by her words. He'd never expected this kind of answer. He placed his  
hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. He wanted to shout, but spoke softly instead:  
"Why was your family murdered, Rowan? Who did this? Have they been brought to justice? Surely  
the Military Police could do something, I could do something..."  
"No." She shook her head. "It happened during the Great Purge. They were foreign nationals   
(can't you hear it in my voice?) We fled the city, went out into the wilderness. There was a   
bounty on our heads. We hid for years, but someone found us out, turned us over to the proper  
authorities." A tear ran down her pale cheek. "Then they were gone. I don't know where I'd be  
if Dan hadn't rescued me."   
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "Enough of this. Would you like to know   
why I'm really trouble?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Daestar drove Smith to a rundown neighborhood in an outer section of Paradigm. Most of the   
city's citizens avoided this part of town. Calling it "decrepit" would have been high praise.  
She pulled her little black sports car into a dark alley behind a graffiti-sprayed building.  
An ominously barred metal door was the sole entrance to the sagging ediface. Motioning Roger to   
follow her, Ro went to the door and rapped it twice smartly. A small window slid open. Roger  
couldn't hear what was said but the door quickly opened to admit them. It slammed shut with a  
disturbing finality. Standing in the shadows, an older man with an eyepatch and a clipboard  
greeted her, then mentioned that a new shipment of something had arrived.  
The trio went through a dimly lit hallway, pushed past a hanging sheet covering the next   
doorway. They emerged into a huge bright room full of people and (amazingly) books. The older  
man left them, heading over to a pile of sealed boxes. Blinking in the sudden light, Roger  
Smith realized that the people were in small groups, each with a leader demonstrating or   
explaining something. "What is this place?" he asked.  
"A school, silly," Rowan's obvious answer.  
Roger's mind began to race. There was no officially sanctioned adult education in Paradigm.  
People would simply remember how to do something and make that their livelihood. There was   
precious little schooling even for the children of the poor. Distracted by his suspicions, he   
let Rowan tug him over to a pile of books. "Look at the titles," she said.  
He glanced down, saw they were mostly "How To's."  
"This is my real work..." she started to say, but Roger furiously interrupted her, shouting:  
"Do you mean to tell me you make your living off the backs of the poorest people in Paradigm? I  
know how valuble these memories are, how expensive schooling is - you're no better than the  
elite you dispise so much! How can you do this and live with yourself? No wonder you don't tell  
Dastun what you do - he'd be ashamed of you!"  
He turned to leave.  
"Roger, wait!"  
He kept walking.  
"Roger Smith, you will stop and listen to me, now!"  
The authoritative tone was commanding, dangerous. Despite himself, Roger Smith did indeed  
stop. Hands deep in his pockets, he turned, stony-faced.  
"It's not what you think, Roger Smith. None of these people are paying me, or anyone else,  
to learn. All these memories, this knowledge," Ro swept her arms out, "is their legacy. Our  
legacy. All I do is make it freely available. I find it. I write it. I get it printed. I pay   
the teachers. I pay the rent. I am trying to give them back some control over their own lives."  
She waited, perfectly still, looking at him, daring him to leave.  
It took a moment for the full import of her words to sink in. The book titles had included  
building home-made power generators,botanical medicine, emergency surgery, self-defense. They  
were the ultimate texts on surviving outside the city, outside Paradigm's reach.  
Daestar could have made a fortune selling it all to the powers that ruled, letting them   
suppress it or use it for themselves. This wasn't merely dangerous stuff...it was outright  
subversive. No wonder she was so secretive, thought Roger. What the hell was he getting into?  
Worse, now he was really smitten.  
"Rowan, are you crazy? Aren't you afraid? Paradigm Corp will never let you get away with  
this."  
Daestar finally smiled at him. "Oh, they need me too much, Roger, to get rid of me."  
"What do you mean? I thought you weren't treating anyone anymore."  
"I still have a couple of important patients but that's not why." Her crooked smile spread  
to a wicked grin. "I'm their chief negotiator. How else do you think I can afford to pay for   
all this?"  
***  
  
Rowan made Roger swear not to tell Dastun any of the day's revelations.  
"It would make him sick with worry. Besides, the politicos would eat him alive if it came  
out that he knew and didn't interfere. I can't do that to him...or to you for that matter.  
Think very hard about this. Being with me may change your life for ever, and it may not be for  
the better."  
She handed him a card with a phone number on it. "That is my private line. Take a week to   
consider all this. If you still want to see me, call. If not, no hard feelings, Lt. Smith.   
It was fun."   



	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Lt. Roger Smith made the front page of the Paradigm Press that week.  
  
A group of young schoolchildren were enjoying a field trip to a museum that  
day. They were accompanied by teachers and a handful of parent volunteers.   
Unfortunately, one of the parents had planned a little surprise for the outing. Once inside the splendid lobby, he pulled a gun out of his jacket and took the small group hostage. He announced that he was going to kill them one by one unless his demands were met. The problem was, no one knew what he wanted.  
  
Major Dastun wasted no time cordoning off the area. Word had spread quickly;  
hordes of people (both civilians and press corp) had converged. The general sentiment was a mix of morbid curiosity and excitement, maybe even a touch of blood lust - the police authorities feared a possible riot if the situation wasn't resolved quickly.  
  
After conferring with his superiors, the major sent a police psychologist into the building. The officer was met with a volley of bullets and invective - screams of "Paradigm lapdog" blended with the cries of terrified children as he beat a hasty retreat to safety. Amazingly, he'd not been wounded.  
  
Dan Dastun was stymied; he'd hoped to end this peacefully. He knew he couldn't storm the lobby without causing a bloodbath. Neither could he use his sharpshooters; there was no cover for them in that huge space. Nevertheless, he had to get someone in there. Knowing his next words might be a death sentence, the major turned towards the three lieutenants by his side.  
"I need one of you to go in there. Assess the situation. Try to defuse it. I would prefer a volunteer."  
  
Lt. Smith stepped forward. "Let me try, Dastun. I have an idea." The major insisted Smith be wired with a microphone.  
  
Smith entered the lobby with his hands above his head. Other than the children's whimpering, it was so quiet he could hear his own heart pound. While the gunman watched suspiciously, Roger carefully removed his own weapon, slowly laying it on the ground, then kicking it out of reach. Then he removed his bullet-proof vest and his tan police cap.  
  
"See," he said calmly, "I can do you no harm. I trust you will not hurt me either." Roger forced himself to stay in focus, using the adrenalin of his fear to fuel his mind. He walked slowly, his hands visible at all times, towards the distraught man. The hostage-taker was armed not only with a gun; he had wired himself with explosives as well. Roger stopped moving as soon as he saw the man's jaw muscles start to twitch.  
  
"My name is Roger Smith." The young lieutenant spoke as if this was the most normal setting one could possibly be in.  
  
The gunman's face twitched again, but he answered Smith. "I'm Jim Webster."  
  
Smith nodded in acknowledgement. "Well Jim, you seem to be in a difficult situation here. Want to talk about it?"   
  
This went on for about an hour, with Webster talking - rambling really - and Smith listening and asking questions, guiding the conversation.  
  
Finally, the gunman fell silent. It was obvious that he was thinking about what to do.   
  
Roger held his breath. He was either going to die now or get everyone out okay. He had done the best he could do.  
  
Webster put down the gun. He removed his explosive vest. "Get out of here" he growled at the children, who promptly fled. He walked over to Lt. Smith and shook his hand.  
  
"Thanks for listening," he said. "That's all I really wanted." Lt. Smith brought Jim Webster out to the crowds gathered outside. The air filled with cheers as the prisoner was led away.  
  
Major Dan Dastun came up to his young lieutenant, slapping him on the shoulder. "Roger, that was absolutely..." he paused for the right word, "...absolutely remarkable. I have never heard anything handled like that before. You're a real hero."  
  
On the seventh day, Roger Smith contacted Rowan Daestar.  



	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Rowan Daestar's office address and home address turned out to be the same. She owned the top two floors of a many-storied office co-op. Both floors had been renovated into single apartments combining work and living space. The lower of the two floors was occupied rent-free by a friend and employee of Ro's. He was one of the head teachers at her school, a one-eyed older man with old-world manners and a propensity (bordering on genius) for dealing with anything technological or mechanical. Roger had in fact met him briefly when Ro had taken him to the school. His name was Norman Berg (Roger later learned Rowan had met Norman at a veterans clinic she had interned at. He had been her patient and they simply hit it off really well.)  
  
Rowan lived in the penthouse. The main elevator to her floor opened onto a small alcove covered in matte gold-leaf, like melted sunlight. A simple black lacquer table was centered against the back wall. On it, a thick chunk of green-gold bamboo held a single stem of white orchids. A very large framed mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the flowers. The flanking walls each held a substantial door. The left hand door bore a bright brass plate marked "Office of R. Daestar." The right hand one was identical save for a discreet peephole rather than a nameplate.  
  
Roger Smith checked his reflection before knocking on the door. He was wearing his favorite leather jacket, a perfectly pressed white shirt, and dark trousers. He placed a bouquet of wild roses on the table and combed his sleek black hair one last time. He knew he looked great but it didn't ease his anxiety one bit.  
  
He'd never had to bother actively courting a woman before meeting Rowan Daestar. Usually just one of his devastating smiles was sufficient, or at least til he got bored or blew it with a sarcastic remark. The flood of conflicting emotions this female raised in him was so new. No one had ever bothered to get past the smirk, to recognise the sarcasm for the protective wall it often was.   
  
Roger was a heart-breaker suddenly aware of his own vulnerability. It was frightening and thrilling simultaneously, knowing Rowan was someone he could love, maybe already did. Harder still to accept was the deeper self-understanding his encounter with Jim Webster had brought.  
  
He picked up the bouquet and knocked on the right hand door. His ears rang in the silence.  
  
Maybe I didn't knock hard enough, he thought, it IS a heavy door. He thumped again, harder. Roger began to rock slightly on his heels as he waited for a response. Now what? ran through his mind...old habits reasserted themselves as his anxiety began to turn to annoyance. He started for the elevator, changed his mind, returned to the door. The young man hesitated before knocking a third time - maybe this was a sign he shouldn't get involved, maybe she was right about being trouble. Maybe he was just a little afraid...focus, Roger, went the little voice in his head - you can handle an armed nut like Webster and a pretty girl does this to you? Breathe, man!  
  
Roger took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and raised his fist to pound the door as hard as he could. He slammed the door once, and raised his hand to do so again when the door flew open. Roger stopped just short of hitting Rowan in the nose. She was dripping wet, clad only in a very large and very damp bath towel. Her long black hair was plastered to her head.  
  
Roger's eyes opened very wide. "Ah, am I too early?" he asked, smirking slightly.  
  
Chagrined, Ro started apologising for making him wait, explaining how she'd gotten home later than she'd expected and the time just got away from her. Her voice trailed off when she realized he hadn't heard a word she said. She looked down at herself and blushed from head to toe.  
  
Roger, on the other hand, was busy appreciating the view. As far as he was concerned, all was forgiven.  
  
Rowan quickly regained her composure. Keeping one hand firmly on her towel, she stepped back from the door. "Please, come in."  
  
Roger entered, avoiding the puddle on the slate floor. "Here," he said, presenting the roses, "these are for you."  
  
"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed. She buried her nose in the fragile pink and white blossoms, deeply inhaling the sweet fragrance. Most flowers were raised for appearance not scent, and these were a real treat.  
  
Roger basked in the reflected glow of her pleasure. The pink and white of Ro's freshly scrubbed skin mimicked the roses' soft colors. He wished he could paint her at that moment.  
  
Rowan then closed the front door, and gestured towards the couch and chairs in the living room. "Make yourself comfortable...I'll be right back, just want to throw something on and put these in water..." She quickly exited the room.  
  
Roger removed his jacket. Curious, he started examining his surroundings. Although much larger than his place, it wasn't overwhelming at all. The furnishings were simple but comfortable, the shelved walls lined with books, plants, and art. Rich color was everywhere. There was a bank of floor to ceiling windows on one side, covered with rice paper blinds that softened the afternoon light. The overall effect was bright, airy, inviting, very different from the prevailing style of Paradigm's upper crust. It was as if a piece of another world had fallen into the dark heart of the domed city.  
  
Roger decided to check out the view from the windows. He rolled up one set of blinds, revealing what seemed to be a jungle of leaves, fruit, and flowers rather than the expected city view. Roger blinked in surprise, then realized it was a greenhouse.  
  
Daestar reentered the living room. "That's part of my lab." Smith looked up as she came over to his side. Her hair was still damp and loose, though no longer dripping, and she had slipped into a sleeveless wrap dress of dark blue silk. The color made her skin luminous, pearl-like. She continued, "Norman helped me build this...this is where I do most of my research." Roger peered through the glass again, noticing it was all quite logically organized and not the wilderness of his first impression.  
  
"You grew all this? It's amazing!"  
  
Rowan's pride in the place was obvious. "Wait," she said, "it gets better." She opened a window panel. "Take a deep breath," she directed Roger. He did - it was a revelation. He'd never experienced air like this...wet, heavily-oxygenated, full of green scents he couldn't identify.He could almost taste it. It cleared his head. It made him smile. "That's wonderful, but what is it?"  
  
"That is what the atmosphere used to be like, I think," Ro said, "before everything went to pieces. I'm glad you like it. It's one of favorite places." She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as well. A gentle smile played on her lips.  
  
Roger leaned against the wall, looking at Daestar's delicate profile. He had to decide today, now, if he was willing to take the biggest chance of his life. Listening to the hostage-taker's tale of a life unlived had made the young man question his own choices. Smith had been disengaged from his own life for a long time, so long that he hadn't realized it til he faced his own mortality. Only his anger at the world's injustice had kept him going...til now.  
  
"Rowan." Just saying her name filled him with warmth. She turned towards him, leaf shadows flickering across her face. Smith raised his hand, delicately tracing the contours of her cheek and mouth with his fingertips. "We have to talk," he said.  
  
Rowan kissed his fingers. "I know." She looked away from him for a moment, then turned back, looking him squarely in the face. "I know what my feelings are for you...but I also know I could jeopardize your safety. You know I keep a lot of secrets from Dastun for that reason, he knows it too. It won't be that simple for us."  
  
Roger's sharp features softened. She was genuinely troubled. No one had ever looked at him with such concern. No one (other than Dastun) had ever given a damn about him. "I understand that," he said.  
  
"Do you?" Her eyes snapped green fire. "Why did you call me back?" She paused, then spoke so quietly that for a moment he thought he imagined her questions: "What do you want, Roger Smith? What is your heart's desire?"  
  
Smith closed his eyes. What questions she asked! What did he want, truly? What WAS his heart's desire? Questions that took a lifetime to answer. Questions answered in the space of a single heartbeat.  
  
"Be sure of this," whispered Rowan "Some choices are riskier than others. You must decide for yourself."  
  
Smith's eyes remained closed; he began to talk as much to himself as to the young woman. "I could have been killed a few days ago," he said, (Ro nodded unseen, having read the newspaper accounts of that near-disaster) "by a man who felt he was already dead. That crystalized everything for me...I realized I was becoming like him, I was almost dead to my own life."  
  
Roger opened his eyes, his gaze dark and soft as velvet. "No life is without risk, certainly no life worth living...and loving someone is the greatest risk of all. I'll take my chances if you're willing to let me."  
  
He placed his large hands on her shoulders - Rowan trembled at his touch. Roger drew her closer, kissed her pale forehead, her soft pink mouth. When he released her lips, Rowan placed her palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as if to reassure herself that this was real. She smiled lovingly at him, breathed the words"...then I'm yours."  
  
In the quiet, they could hear the muffled sound of distant music. Roger took the tall beauty in his arms, and they began to slow dance to the faint melody. Daestar leaned her head against his, fine tendrils of her night-black hair tickling his face, her clean scent filling his nose.  
  
Roger kissed the back of her neck, nibbled her ear, stroked her through the thin fabric of her blue dress. "You know," she said, tracing her fingertips down his muscular back, "I thought I scared you off."  
  
"Oh, did you now?" Roger smirked despite himself. He cuddled Rowan so she couldn't see his face. She'd been alone for so long, just like him, building her walls too. "We're too much alike, Ro, when you get right down to it, for you to frighten me away."  
  
He kissed her tenderly, with all his heart. The walls separating their souls vanished, setting free the mutual passion burning within them.  
  
It was to be their first night as lovers. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
It was about 8 A.M. when the aroma of fresh coffee drifted its way into Roger Smith's dreams. He yawned, stretched sleepily, not quite ready for the day. Rolling onto his back, eyes still closed, it occurred to him on some subconscious level that something was different.  
  
The bed was too comfortable, for one thing. The silky sheets felt wonderful against his nude body...and that let to the second oddity. Where were his pajamas?  
  
Roger's eyes snapped open. His first impression was that he was under an impossibly clear open sky. Then he realized the ceiling was painted to look like that, a perfectly azure summer day, complete with puffy clouds.  
  
The electric memory of the night before flooded back; smiling he remembered where he was. Roger sat up. He could hear Rowan in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She'd left a note on the nightstand by the bed, stating there was a new toothbrush and shaving supplies in the bathroom. It was signed with a lipsticked kiss.  
  
On a chair by the bed was a thick bathrobe and fresh towels. She had already washed his clothes from the day before, his clean socks and underwear at the foot of the bed, his trousers and shirt ironed and hung.  
  
Impressed, but secretly convinced he was still dreaming (stuff like this never happened in the real world) Roger decided to quickly shower and dress. After washing he realized that the only thing Rowan had neglected for his groomimg was hair gel. Despite his best efforts, his thick hair insisted on falling into his face.  
  
Finally shrugging in defeat at his reflection, Roger dressed and padded out to the kitchen. Rowan, dressed in close-fitting jeans and a snug black tee shirt, her hair french-braided down her back, was busy at the stove. Roger came over, put his arms around her slender waist and hugged her close, kissing the back of her neck. Rowan shivered, turned her smiling face to kiss him on the lips.  
  
"I'm glad to see you're up...did I have everything you needed?" Roger decided to ignore the potential double entendre of her question. Instead, he pointed to his unruly hair. "Well, almost," he said.  
  
"Oh," said Ro. She ran one hand through the fluffy black mop, messing it up even more. He's SO beautiful, she thought. "Sorry. I don't use that stuff, but I may be able to find something in my lab for you." She smiled mischievously. "You know, it is awfully sexy like that, Roger..." dismay flickered across his handsome face "...but then again, I'd probably have to beat all the other females off with a stick." Daestar combed her fingers through his hair again, smoothing it a bit. "I'll take care of it after we eat."   
  
She set a steaming pot of coffee on the kitchen table. The roses Roger had given her were there too, surrounded by a plate of rolls and toast, various condiments, a bowl of fresh fruit and a pitcher of orange liquid.   
  
"How do you like your eggs?" she asked. "Scrambled is fine," said Roger, sitting down at one of the place settings. He poured himself some coffee, then tapped the pitcher. "Is this that awful powdered stuff?" He grimaced just at the thought of it.  
  
"No," said Ro, flipping scrambled eggs onto both their plates, "it's orange juice." She went back to the stove to get some well-drained bacon.   
  
"I can see its color," said Roger, "but what is it?"  
  
"You've never had real orange juice?" Rowan's face registered her surprise. Roger shook his head no. "Well try it." She filled the juice glass in front of him.  
  
Roger sniffed it suspiciously. It didn't have the sickeningly sweet ketone odor of the detestible orange powder - that was a good sign. He took a tentative sip. As he tasted the cold mixture of acidity and sweetness, a flash of memory leaped through him. The smiling image of a woman, a few years older than Rowan, with short dark hair and dark eyes like his, stood before him - his mother?  
  
He dropped the glass on the table, the crashing sound pulling him back to the present. Rowan was kneeling on the floor beside his chair, her hands on his face, a frightened expression on hers.  
  
"Roger, Roger, are you alright? You look like you saw a ghost!" The young man put his strong hands over hers, kissed her palms, held her hands in his lap. Roger leaned back in the chair, feeling the blood returning to his face. My god, he thought, what happened?  
  
"I'm alright, really," he reassured the anxious Daestar. "I think I had a flashback from my childhood. It happens sometimes." He looked at the shambles on the table. "Sorry for the mess...I'll clean this up." He grabbed some paper towels and started mopping up the juice. Fortunately the heavy glass hadn't broken.  
  
He kept talking, as much to calm his own nerves as Rowan's. "I guess I had this juice as a kid. The taste just triggered the memory." The young woman watched him, her face puzzled...what had he remembered to have such an extreme effect? "Roger, what did you see?"  
  
He paused. "My mother. We were in a kitchen having breakfast. She'd just given me some orange juice..." his voice trailed off. It sounded so ridiculous.  
  
"I don't understand," said Rowan. "I have lots of memories of my parents and I don't get zoned out. It doesn't sound like a traumatic memory. Why would you be so affected?"  
  
Roger shrugged. "I don't know. It just popped up. There weren't even any feelings attached to it...not happy, not sad...she was...just...there." He threw the soaked wad of paper into the trash. "It caught me by surprise, that's all."   
  
Roger sat back down at the table. Rowan sat down too. Her concern was palpable. Smith reached over, took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm okay, really."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."  
  
Roger shook his head no. "There's nothing to talk about. It was just a flashback, nothing important. Don't let it ruin breakfast. Anyway, I'm more concerned about solving this problem," he said, running his hand through his disheveled hair.   
  
After they ate, Roger asked if Daestar would show him around the rest of her place. She suspected he just wanted to further distract her from the morning's incident, but agreed to do so anyway.  
  
Although Rowan used the entire top floor, only a relatively small portion was actual living area. She had taken the square space and divided it into a kind of horseshoe, with the innermost section home, the larger outer section work.  
  
One wall of the greenhouse ran the entire length of the living area, making it the fourth wall of her kitchen, bedroom, and livingroom. The back (or top of the horseshoe) was her actual lab and general workplace. This part also had access to a service elevator.   
  
The last third of the horseshoe was her office, which opened onto the alcove via the nameplated door. Numerous doorways, some hidden, allowed Ro quick entrance to any area.  
  
Smith was quite impressed by the time they got to the lab. He really liked the combination of playfulness and no-nonsense practicality displayed throughout the whole place. It was pure Rowan, through and through.   
  
Daestar was rummaging around a shelf of various oils and gels, looking for something suitable to control Roger's hair, when he noticed another door behind a screen. It was locked. "Where does this go?" he asked.  
  
"Hmm?" she was absorbed in her search, finally locating a small pot of colorless jelly in the back of the shelf. She sniffed it...there was no scent. This should do the trick, she thought.  
  
"Ro, where does this go?"  
  
She looked up. "What? Oh. That goes to my 'official' office." Rowan wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Doctor or negotiator, that is where my clients usually see me." She pocketed the gel. "Would you like to see that too?"  
  
Rowan unlocked the door, led Roger through a short passageway lined with full file cabinets and unlocked a second entrance. It opened onto the middle of a small rectangular room. It had rich dark green walls, burnished wood floors scattered with thick rugs, and beautiful antique furniture. It had an aura of both intimacy and power.  
  
On the furthest wall was a floor to ceiling mural of an ancient pine, its twisted graceful limbs floating against a matte gold-leaf background, echoing the outer alcove. Her large wooden desk, starkly simple in design, stood in front of it. There were only two objects on it: an old hourglass (its brass fittings green with age) and a miniature tree.  
  
Roger Smith turned the hourglass, wtching the powdery grains slip to the bottom. He loved the things and had been making them for years. This was an elegent specimen. "You don't use this to time your rich clients, do you?" he asked, smirking.  
  
"Not exactly," she said. "It's more to remind them that time waits for no one, not even them."  
  
Roger nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention to the tiny tree. Its bark was a soft grey, its thin branches full of dainty white flowers. He had never seen anything like it before.  
  
"That," said Rowan, "is a dwarfed rowan tree."  
  
Roger looked up, surprised. "You named a tree after yourself?" That was out of character for her, he thought.  
  
"No, no." She ran her fingers over the bark. "I was named after the tree. My mother loved them, they were her favorite."  
  
Daestar went to the back of her desk and unlocked a side drawer. Inside was a square silver box and a small pair of silver scissors. Rowan pulled out the box and opened it. It had four compartments, three of which held locks of hair: one black, one blond, one dark brown.  
  
Rowan touched the black, "My mother, Hanae." She touched the blond, "My father, Stephan." She touched the dark brown, "Dan Dastun...when he had hair." She smiled sadly, then looked up at Roger, her expression turning shy. "Would you indulge me?" She held out the tiny scissors. "May I have one of yours?"  
  
"You want to cut my hair?" Roger patted his head nervously.  
  
"Just a little snip - please?" She was so earnest Roger found it hard not to laugh...but he also couldn't find it in himself to refuse her.   
  
Rowan took the black tress and put in the fourth compartment, closed the box and carefully returned it to her desk. As she started to put the scissors away Roger caught her hand.  
  
"Wait. My turn." He took hold of the end of her silken black braid and clipped off a piece. He tucked it into his wallet. Roger kind of liked the idea of always having a part of her with him.  
  
"Now about this..." he pointed to his spiky hair. Rowan took the tiny pot from her pocket and tossed it to him. "You don't need much...you can always add more," she said watching him comb the stuff through.  
  
"Well?" he asked after a few moments of intense grooming. "Is it okay?" Ro bit her lip not to laugh and fought an impulse to muss his hair. She kissed his cheek instead. "You're perfect, Roger Smith. I wouldn't change a thing."  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
Rowan invited Smith to spend the afternoon with her, hiking some of the woodlands outside the domes of Paradigm. After some consideration (and the promise of lovely scenery and a picnic lunch) he agreed. They stopped by his place so he could change into appropriate clothing and pick up his sketch pad and colored chalks.  
  
Daestar drove northeast out of the domed city and across the Hudson, then took a north-bound narrow road running parallel to the the river. The gently rolling terrain gradually rose and toughened. Soon they were in a rocky area with ancient granite boulders (split into pieces by weather or war) strewn across the landscape.  
  
After a while, the young woman pulled the car over by the roadside and parked. She got her knapsack and Roger's art supplies out of the trunk.  
  
The forest she led him through was a thick mix of mostly oak, pine, and blooming laurel, interrupted by rocky outcroppings and small clearings bright with wildflowers. A large shady opening appeared in the woods before them. Roger could see the pink and grey quartz cliffs looming over the opposite side of the Hudson River. He walked to the edge of the mountain. The view in every direction was spectacular. Looking south, one could see all of Paradigm, the great domes gleaming gold against the perpetually sullen sky. Looking north, the river's silvery curves emphasized the height of the great vertical stone walls, all apparently untouched by any human presence.  
  
Roger Smith found it breathtaking. He immediately took out his drawing pad and started sketching bits of the landscape before him. Rowan looked over his shoulder...he was quite good drawing straight from nature. "How did you ever find this place?" the young man asked, smearing his chalk to catch some shadows.  
  
"I used to live here," her laconic answer.  
  
He put down the chalk. There's no place here to live, he thought. "You mean some town near here, right?"  
  
"No," she said. "Would you like to see?" Daestar started down a scarcely visible path through some tall grass. Roger jumped up before she disappeared from view and hurried after her. "Be careful here," her sweetly-accented voice drifted up. "Some of the rocks underfoot are loose."  
  
The old trail worked its way down the cliff face, finally broadening into a grassy area in front of a vine-covered cave. Roger found the young woman sitting at the outermost ledge, her jean-covered legs dangling over the river. She was tossing pebbles into the watery abyss below.  
  
It was beautiful but desolate. There was something odd about the way things sounded too. It was very easy to pick out the direction of any noise. Roger figured it had something to do with the shape and distance of the cliff wall, and the way some parts were heavily overgrown while other sections were bare stone. It would be a good place to hide, but still...he found it a little hard to believe. A city boy, he couldn't imagine surviving in a place like this and he told her so: "How could you possibly manage? There's nothing here. When did you do this?"  
  
Rowan kept tossing pebbles as she replied. "After my folks died, I lived here alone for almost two years before I got caught." She got up and entered the cave with Roger, curious, following her. Rowan scraped off some of the moss growing on the side of the cave. "Here's my proof." She pointed to a mark on the wall. Smith used a flashlight to see it better.  
  
It was clearly a child's handprint, a smaller version of the square palm and long fingers he was so familiar with. The initials "R-D" were carefully printed below it in a childish scrawl.  
  
"How old were you?" he asked. Stupid question, Roger, he thought to himself, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. The idea of a child out here alone was too disturbing.  
  
"Twelve," she answered. "I marked this just before they came for me. I knew they had found me. I could hear them coming, and I assumed they were going to kill me too...I just wanted to leave something behind to prove I once existed."  
  
Daestar gracefullly sat down on the cool dirt floor of the cave. She slipped her knapsack off, antd stretched the muscles in her shoulders. "It's funny, you know. I can remember my life before they grabbed me; I can remember my life after Dan got me out. The two years in between are pretty much gone...all that's left is a handful of impressions. There was a big building and red lights. Our heads were shaved, to prevent lice, I guess. I remember an awful lot of other kids, but I wasn't allowed to mix with them. I remember someone saying I was too old or independent for them. The others had been there a long time, years maybe - even though we were all about the same age." She paused, wondeering if Roger had been through any of this. "Roger, how much of your past do you remember? I mean really remember, with feelings?"   
  
Roger stood there, looking slightly stricken, but Rowan couldn't see his face in the dim light. He could remember entering the Police Academy, how excited he had been at being accepted. He could remember everything since then...but before?   
  
Rowan's gently accented voice continued in the darkness: "Did you have brothers or sisters, Roger? Do you know your parents' names? Where did you grow up?"  
  
"I don't know" he whispered. His heart started pounding. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. Roger suddenenly got light-headed. He steadied himself against the rough cave wall. Why was Rowan asking him all these questions? This was none of her business. He got angry. How dare she interrogate him! - his mind abruptly shut off, filled with a blinding red fury. Unthinking, he launched himself at her, knocking her over. His large hands were around her throat.  
  
Ro was shocked but kept her wits about her. She managed to tuck her legs under Roger's belly and throw him off. He fell backwards heavily, the wind knocked out of him. Daestar leaped to her feet, prepared to defend herself. She realized something deep had been triggered in Roger, that he wasn't responsible for this, but she had no intention of letting him injure or kill her.  
  
She waited for what felt like hours (though it was only moments) to see what he would do next. He remained supine in the dirt, his breathing normal. Ro approached him cautiously, shining the flashlight on him. His face was ashy, and he was sweating profusely. His eyes were closed.  
  
She nudged his side lightly with her foot. "Roger?" No response. She kneeled down, checked the back of his head for blood - nothing. Fortunately he'd landed on soft earth instead of a rock. Rowan pulled a canteen out of her knapsack and poured some water over Roger's face.  
  
The young man sputtered, coughed, tried to sit up but couldn't quite til Daestar took his arm. "What happened?" he asked, confused. "How did I get on the ground?" He looked at Rowan. In the dim light he could just make out that she was smeared with dirt, her clothes disheveled.  
  
"You don't remember?" Rowan spoke quietly; she had no desire to agitate him again.  
  
"No, I don't." He shifted, winced, and placed one of his hands on his stomach. "I feel like I got kicked by a horse...Ro, what the hell happened?"  
  
"Umm, that was me, Roger." She told him what happened, omitting the original questions. Smith couldn't believe he had tried to throttle her until she shone the flashlight on her neck. Roger's bruising fingerprints were clearly visible, already purpling the white skin.  
  
"Oh my god, Rowan - I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't know what I was doing. Can you ever trust me again?" What if I had killed her? he thought. How could I live with myself?  
  
"I think..." Daestar bit her lip "...I think we were both messed with as kids. I think..." she gave Roger a hand as he stood up, "we were lab rats. Maybe we're still lab rats." She touched his stomach gingerly. "That's going to bruise badly too. Sorry."  
  
They stumbled out of the cave, blinking in the cold grey light. Roger pulled his shirt up to inspect the damage. There were two red shoeprints marring the muscled perfection of his abs. Yikes! he thought, was that a lucky shot! Ro smiled ruefully as if she could read his mind: "Sweetheart, in the future, if you ever feel like doing a little sparring, let me know first please. Dan made sure I learned how to defend myself."  
  
The pair climbed back up the cliff face and looked out again at the magnificence spread out before them. The lights of Paradigm began to twinkle as dusk approached. Roger put his arm around his companion. To his relief she didn't stiffen at his touch, but relaxed against him instead. "Rowan," he said earnestly, "I don't know how how, but I swear I'll make this up to you. This wasn't normal, this wasn't me."   
  
She nuzzled her face against his. "Roger, we don't live in normal times. We don't know the past anymore than we know the future. All we have is now."  
  
As if to punctuate her words, a portion of one of the smaller domes before them collapsed, sending a puff of smoke and debris high in the air over Paradigm. Something huge, half obscured by dust clouds, seemed to be moving through the opening.  
  
"Did you see that?!" they exclaimed simultaneously. Roger grabbed a pair of binoculars he'd left by his drawing pad. He focused on the dark shadow, trying to a get a glimpse of...of a horror from the past. He whistled tonelessly.  
  
"Roger, what is it? Does it look like a bomb went off?"  
  
"No, it's worse." Roger could hardly believe his eyes. "It's a Megadeus."  
  
"A Megadeus?...but that's not possible! No one knows how to pilot them anymore - why would anyone even want to?"  
  
"I don't know." Roger finally got a clear view of the thing. Watching it produced the strangest feeling in him, as if he somehow connected with it. He shoved the sensation away. He'd had enough self-discovery for today. He concentrated on the scene unfolding before him.  
  
The Megadeus was in pretty bad shape. It was rusty and battered, looking like it had been buried for decades. One arm was missng too.It was smashing its way backwards through the city, retreating towards the river. The faint sound of distant explosions finally reached them.  
  
"We have to go back, Roger. We have to help."  
  
"How? You can't negotiate with something like that. You need heavy artillery. The Military Police will handle it"...I hope, he thought grimly. Domestic terrorists weren't bad enough, someone had to dig up one of these things. Damn the past and all its secrets! Roger scowled, watching the tanks force the ancient combat robot twards the muddy banks.  
  
At the very edge, it stopped its withdrawal. Dented armor plating on its chest moved, revealing missile chambers hidden beneath. "Oh no," groaned Roger. Rowan had her hands over her mouth, as if trying to smother a silent scream. Smith changed the binoculars' focus for a closer look. All the chambers were empty. The monster wasn't armed.  
  
The tanks formed a semi-circle and started blasting at the top half of the great machine. At least one of their small stinger-type missiles hit something vital. There was a huge explosion vaporizing the top half of the Megadeus. The legs staggered, then fell into the river and sank.  
  
"We better go back," said Rowan. "We're both going to be needed." Roger nodded grimly. They gathered their things and headed back to the city of amnesia.  
  
  



	9. chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Lt. Roger Smith's disenchantment with his career had not abated, despite the distinct improvement in his private life. He often spoke with Major Dastun about this. Smith admired and respected his superior officer greatly for his integrity and sense of justice. He was also deeply grateful for the introduction to Daestar.  
  
Nevertheless, Lt. Smith ws sick of the politicalizing and corruption in the upper ranks of the Military Police. Since they worked hand in glove with the ruling class of Paradigm, very little could be effectively ascomplished without their inplicit approval. This rankled Dastun too, but he was too much a company man. He wanted to stem the tide of rot from within. Besides, Dastun felt he himself was too old to start over. Roger was still young and foolhardy enough to risk his career.   
  
Major Dastun was very concerned about his lieutenant's unhappiness. He really understood Smith's point of view, but felt deserting the Military Police would only add to the problem. He also warned the young man that the paths followed by most ex-officers were even dirtier: "You either become a P.I. and disturb people's lives, or you work for some legal firm and destroy people's lives."  
  
Dastun finally shared his concerns with Rowan, hoping she'd talk some sense into the young man. She suggested that perhaps a temporary career change via a leave of absence wouldn't be such a bad idea. It would give Smith something to compare his current situation with.  
  
Dastun mulled that one over. He knew he couldn't force his young lieutenant to stay, so, he reasoned "...maybe once Roger sees how lousy everything else is, being a cop will start looking good again." He agreed to the temporary leave.  
  
What Dastun didn't know yet was that his "niece" had offered Roger Smith an apprenticeship. Smith had already accompanied her as an observer during several negotiations of varying complexity and risk. Roger found the whole intellectual process fascinating. He liked the freedon it offered on so many levels: clientele, fees, time, and creativity. There were just three rules that Daestar insisted were sacrosanct:  
1) Remain impersonal. The negotiator's only job is to arrange an acceptible agreement between the parties concerned.  
2) See every job through with honor and to the best of your ability.  
3) Dress with authority, not flash. YOU are not the center of attention. The client is. In addition (advice given her by Dastun when she first started in the business) wear gloves. You do NOT want your fingerprints on anything that could be potentially incriminating in the future.  
  
All in all, "negotiator" was a far better fit for Roger's talents and personality than "Military Police officer." Daestar was soon introducing Smith as her associate. She let him take the lead in smaller cases, while she stayed in the background as a senior consultant. Roger soon shared her reputation as being tough yet fair-mined. It turned out to be an excellent partnership.  
  
Despite this success, Smith found himself a little reluctant to quit the Military Police. Some of this was because of his personal loyalty to Dan Dastun. Also, everything was happening so fast, maybe too fast. His common sense told him to be cautious. So far, despite his increased income, his sole indulgence had been several beautifully tailored suits in black and dark grey. He had even kept his old apartment, dispite his moving in with Rowan. Everything else was banked.   
  
More importantly, Roger did not want to ride on anyone else's coattails. His male ego would not allow that. He needed to be sure that he could do this on his own terms. The opportunity to prove himself came up sooner than he'd expected.  
**************************  
  
Rowan Daestar's services had been solicitated by someone from the Paradigm Group, but in her capacity as a physician, not a negotiator. She told Roger that she would be out of town and out of reach for two days.She had only one request: that he take on any cases that came up in her absense.   
  
Roger shrugged but agreed. Things had been rather quiet in town the last week, so he really didn't expect any calls. He planned to spend the next couple of days expanding on a series of chalk studies he'd drawn of Rowan. He wanted to paint her, but couldn't quite decide on how.  
  
Later that afternoon, as he was going through his sketches, the answering service called. Roger nearly fell over when the service gave him the names of the would-be clients.  
  
The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys respectively controlled two of Paradigm's most powerful and best-known family-run companies. Both were as famous (or infamous) for being difficult to deal with as they were for their extraordinary wealth.  
  
They had been feuding for decades, almost as far back as the Great Event that had wiped out the population's collective memories. Both families claimed a fairly confused ownership of secret formulas vital to the existence of their respective companies. What made the whole thing so crazy was that they were not competitors.  
  
They made totally different products - the only crossover was in the manufacturing process itself. Despite that, they had been dragging each other into the courts (and sometimes the streets) for as long as anyone could remember. There had even been a duel to the death at one point.  
  
The only ones profiting from all this were gossip columnists and lawyers. Finally one judge had had enough. She had ordered both sides to go to a negotiator. The firm of Daestar and Smith had been highly recommended.  
  
Roger Smith agreed to a meeting the following morning at Rowan's home office (the little brass plate now bore both their names.) He decided to go out and do some research.  
  
There had been an informant Roger had found useful in the past, although he rarely used him. Dastun didn't like paid snitches. Of course, this wasn't a police matter, so Smith decided to do whatever he felt was reasonable.  
  
There was a fairly popular neighborhood tavern the guy would hang out at. Roger sauntered in, quickly perused the smoky interior and spotted his quarry.   
  
As usual, the dignified fiftyish man was quietly reading a newspaper. He was wearing his customary headphones, listening to who knew what (Roger suspected it was a ruse to let him eavesdrop unnoticed) and nursing a large whiskey.  
  
The young man purchased a bottled beer, than nonchalantly sat down next to his target. The bearded older man turned the page of his paper. Without looking at Smith, he quietly addressed him; "Didn't expect to see you here anymore. Thought your boss didn't approve...or are you just slumming?"  
  
Smith took a swig of his beer before answering. "I'm not here on police business, Big Ear. I need some information." He discreetly slipped a stack of twenties onto the table. The newspaper fell on top of them and was folded in half as the older man turned to a different section. Magically the bills were gone when he lifted the paper to continue reading. "It's nice to know you respect what your elders can do for you...what do you need to know?"  
  
Roger leaned back in his chair, played with his beer bottle. "I assume you've heard of the Mooney/Van der Arc mess. What can you tell me about these people?"  
  
"Well," said Big Ear, "aside from the fact they have way too much time and money at their disposal...I'd say that since Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van der Arc are the sole heirs for each family, and they do seem to travel in the same social circles - you might want to start with them.   
  
Smith finished his beer. "Thanks," he said as he left. "If this works out I'll be back."  
  
Roger Smith then headed to the offices of the Paradigm Press (true to their motto, "we never sleep," they operated 24/7) and read through all the archival material he could find. He concentrated on the business and society sections. The young negotiator noticed that despite the long-standing rancor between the families' older members, the youngest generation (it was hard for Roger to accept that they were his contemporaries...their privileged lives made them seem so juvenile) apeared to get on nicely. If the rumors printed in the gossip columns were correct, Mr. Mooney Jr. and Miss Van der Arc were getting on almost too nicely. Roger got an idea. It was almost crazy enough to work.   
  
The next day dawned grey as usual. Preparing himself for that morning's meeting, Roger mentally ran through all his facts, and more importantly, his hunches about his clients.  
  
Business disputes were bad, but could usually be solved if enough money got thrown at them. Personal quarrels were another story entirely, but enough therapy and distance generally kept these under control as well. This mess was both. Roger's well-honed instincts as a police officer would have to guide him.  
  
Before using the secret office entrance, Smith straightened his sober tie, put on his black leather gloves, and passed a comb through his sleekly perfect hair one last time. Grooming almost always calmed Roger's nerves. He went into the quiet office, sat down behind the massive desk, and waited.  
  
Norman Berg had agreed to take the morning off from teaching to pinch-hit as Roger's secretary, something he would also do for Rowan on occassion. He played his role perfectly, showing in six people with appropriate ceremony and directing them to a double row of elegant chairs facing the great desk. Only momentarily distracted by the sumptousness of the room, the four older clients seated themselves in the first row and promptly fell to squabbling.  
  
Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van dr Arc huddled together in the second row, looking extremely distressed.   
  
Ignored, Roger Smith studied his new clients. Ruddy-faced Jake Mooney Sr.; his ex-beauty queen wife Florrie; pale, lanky Thomas Van der Arc; his fleshly spouse Irene...they were the top of Paradigm society. As Dan Dastun said, reflected Roger, scum, like cream, rose to the top. Despite their money, connections, so-called breeding - their situation was no different from the petty (and often dangerous) domestic situations Roger has handled as a cop. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being shot. Norman had discreetly swept them for weapons before letting them in. Well, Smith said to himself, it's showtime.  
  
Roger started to speak. The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys continued to bicker, totally oblivious. He cleared his throat loudly, to no avail. Finally he stuck two gloved fingers in his nouth and whistled loudly, once.  
  
That got their attention. Regaining his composure, Roger began again, speaking with all the serenity he could muster: "Ladies...gentlemen...I am Roger Smith. My only purpose is to help you find a mutually agreeable solution."  
  
He got out of his chair, walked in front of the desk and stood there with his hands in his pockets. The golden mural behind him framed his impressive black-suited form with a kind of glow, making him seem even taller than his six and a half feet. His demeanor was cool, relaxed, and in control.   
  
The cream of Paradigm society was totally cowed.  
  
Roger realized that he'd have to be quick now tht he had their full attention. Their ability to concentrate on anything other than themselves was woefully limited.  
  
Gazing sternly, he began: "I realize that you are all here under duress. However,' Roger held up his black-gloved hand to silence Mooney Sr (who'd barely opened his mouth) "...however, this disagreement of yours has become an intolerable burden, not only to your families but to the larger society as well.  
  
"On a personal level you have succeeded only in harming your own families." The handsome young negotiator turned towards Thomas Van der Arc. "Your brother Timothy died in a duel over this." The sixtyish man nodded vigorously, then turned to face the Mooney clan. He pointed one bloodless perfectly manicured finger at them and yelled, "Your uncle murdered my brother, you bastards!" He started to get out of his chair.  
  
"You will sit down NOW, Mr. Van der Arc." Smith spoke firmly, as if telling a dog to heel. It worked like the proverbial charm. The skinny man sat. He looked quite shocked.  
  
Smith waited a beat, then continued, "Sir, you have proven my point. Your brother dead, Mr. Mooney's uncle jailed for life, various family members ruining their lives in the pursuit of revenge. This is not promoting the welfare of eithr family. Correct?"  
  
His unreadable black eyes swept across the six people seated before him. They all nodded in unison. Excellent, thought Roger, it's all going okay so far. Now to get beyond the private good to the public good.  
  
"Now, regarding the memories you both claim ownership of. First, I understand that the methods or formulas they contain are considered highly classified. The court has ruled that such information must remain strictly concealed. This means there is no way for an outsider (such as myself) to figure out who actually owns what portion of this property." That was simple enough, thought Roger.   
  
"Second, this information is vital for both your companies to operate. Third, you manufacture two totally different products, both of which are needed for the proper operation of a third item which neither of you have any involvement with. Correct?"  
  
Again, six heads nodded in agreement. This is too easy, went the little voice in Roger's head - now for the kill.  
  
Smith continued: "Your continued litigation over who gets to use what is crippling this third industry, because you are interrupting their supply flow. This in turn is affecting thousands of innocent bystanders, from the workers building it to the consumers buying it. You are tying up the courts, delaying justice for people who don't have the money for a high-priced lawyer. At the very least you are building ill-will towards both your firms, so you are ruining your businesses as well. This is hardly the action of a good CEO, is it?" Whew, thought Roger...hope I didn't lose them with THAT.   
  
Mooney Sr. looked down at his lap in embarressment, his already florid face deepening in color. "I guess...I guess I never thought of it that way before." He took his wife's beringed hand in his and squeezed it til she winced. "Oh, Florrie, we've been so stupid," he whimpered. Tears actually started dripping down his face. He yanked at his pocket handkerchief and blew his nose noisily.  
  
Thomas Van der Arc didn't look quite so covinced. His foot was tapping furiously. Two bright red spots appeared on his ashy cheeks. His watery blue eyes glared at Smith.  
  
The negotiator, unfazed, met his gaze and asked if he (Van der Arc) wished to share his thoughts.  
  
The older man leaped to his feet. "You'e a fraud, Mr. Smith! I thought you were supposed to negotiate a settlement so my family doesn't have to hand our property over to these, these...these strangers! These memories are the birthright of MY family and I, WE are not sharing with THEM! Hmpf!" He sat back down, tightly crossing his arms and legs.  
  
Mrs. Mooney grimaced at this performance. She started muttering under her breath.  
  
"What did you call me?" cried out Irene Van der Arc, her chins quivering. Suddenly the small room was filled with enraged clamoring.  
  
The son and daughter, seated behind their illustrious parents, cringed, looking first at each other and than at Roger in dismay. The negotiator, for his part, was somewhat taken aback by his miscalculation, but quickly realized what he'd have to do. He would have to play his hunch.  
  
"ENOUGH!" Smith roared, placing himself bodily between the warring factions. He glared the four of them into silence.  
  
"I have a settlement to propose," he said, keeping his irritation out of his voice (he felt like slapping them all.) He walked over to Jake Jr. and Lara. Roger had noticed they'd been holding hands throughout most of the meeting. He was pretty sure they had no interest in continuing the feud.  
  
Smith looked down at the pair (god, do I look that young? he wondered.) He spoke briefly with them in a low voice, his body blocking their reaction from their parents' view. They smiled happily at his words. Relieved, Roger positioned himself behind their chairs, his gloved hands resting lightly on their shoulders.   
  
"Well?' queried the senior Van der Arc. "Yeah," chimed in the elder Mooney, "What's the deal?"  
  
Roger allowed himself a brief smirk. "I propose a merger."  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
While Roger Smith was busy with his first big case, Rowan Daestar had driven her small black sports car far beyond the golden domes of the city.  
  
The moldering devastation of Paradigm's outer perimeter had given way first to sparkling mansions, then small settlements, then forest as nature quickly reclaimed the land. Finally the curving road broke through the dark curtain of trees, opening onto a lush expanse of greenhouses and manicured fields.   
  
This was an area known as Islesberry. It was one the largest agricultural laboratories run by Paradigm Corporation. It was also a favored retreat of Gordon Rosewater, one of the founders of Paradigm Group and the father of its current president, Alex Rosewater.  
  
This was a familiar journey for Ro. As usual, her presence had been requested for a two-fold task. Her first duty had been to examine and treat Gordon Rosewater. Her second had been to review research papers on current experiments being run at the farm. Again, none of this was out of the ordinary, for she was as highly regarded for her scientific and medical acumen as she was for her negotiating skills. In truth, both required the same traits of trustworthiness and shrewd intelligence.  
  
At this moment Daestar was seated at a large wooden table in the farm's comfortably homey kitchen. Although it was only a little past dawn, she'd already had breakfast and was on her second cup of coffee. She always found herself impressed by the rustic luxury of this place; certainly it was nothing like the decayed and abandoned little farms of her grim childhood.  
  
Reading over her lab findings, the young physician reflected on how ironic it was that her patient suffered from Alzheimer's Disease, that he would eventually suffer a second loss of memory even more total than the amnesia caused by the mysterious Event of forty years past.  
  
Gordon Rosewater and his son Alex entered the kitchen. The two men couldn't have looked more different (despite their facial similarities.) Gordon's fuller face was relaxed, genial; he was dressed casually in jeans and a red plaid shirt. He looked and acted like a cross between a gentleman farmer and a stereotypical favorite older uncle. It was very hard not to like the old man, despite his brutal past.  
  
Alex Rosewater, on the other hand, was every inch the smug elitist. His sense of entitlement oozed from him. As usual, he was sharply turned out in a spotless white suit. No matter how dirty his past was, it never seemed to sully the man.  
  
Quite frankly, Ro didn't trust father or son, and her long association with them hadn't improved her opinion of the pair either. She continued dealing with them out of fear, but not so much for her own well-being (though that was a concern.) Rather, it was fear for the safety of her "uncle" Dan Dastun in particular and the rest of the community in general.  
  
On some level, Rowan believed Dastun could not have rescued her without some intervention from Gordon Rosewater. She couldn't prove it and Dastun denied it, but she knew it in her gut.  
  
As for safeguarding the populace at large, by getting involved in the plant research she had stopped several potential disasters. Just a year ago Paradigm Corp had been on the verge of offering a wholly synthetic coffee...the only problem was the bean became toxic when roasted at a certain temperature. It would have sickened, possibly killed, thousands. She had caught the spontaneous gene mutation the Islesberry lab techs had missed.  
  
No matter how Ro thought it through, she was stuck with the Rosewaters.  
  
The older Rosewater sat down at the kitchen table across from her. "Well, my dear, what have you learned about me this time? Please don't spare my feelings. I know I'm an old man but I'm still tough." He laughed and patted her hand with his great paw.  
  
The young woman glanced up at Alex Rosewater. He nodded an almost imperceptable "yes." There was no expression on his angular face.  
  
"Well," began Rowan, "I will be blunt about this, Gordon. The disease is continuing to progress. Despite everything I've tried, I can't repair the damage you have already suffered. I can't stop it from continuing to damage you. I can't heal you. The prognosis is still terminal. All I can do is slow it down. I'm sorry." She WAS sincerely sorry - Daestar hated to see anyone suffer.  
  
Gordon nodded. "I see. Alex..." he looked round to his son, "would you mind leaving us alone for a while? I wish to make an indecent proposal to Dr. Daestar and I don't want her embarrassed by having a third person present. Thanks for indulging an old man." Alex smiled thinly and left the room.  
  
The doctor sat quietly, waiting to see what the old man really wanted. After a moment, Gordon got up, walked to the kitchen doorway and looked down the hallway. Then he came back to the table and sat down again.  
  
"I'm sorry for all the fuss, child, but Alex doesn't approve of my latest project."  
  
Oh god, what scheme is he hatching now? thought Rowan. Her face showed nothing but rapt attention. "Please go on, Gordon" she said.  
  
"I am writing a book of my memories. It explains what really happened forty hears ago, why it happened as well. Please, you must help me keep going long enough to finish it. It is the only way I can make things right again. I have done terrible things, my girl, terrible..." A fat tear rolled down his cheek, splashing onto the polished wood of the table top.  
  
"Alex doesn't want me to do this. He says there is no need and it will only bring the troubles back to us - but I must. I am the last, I was there from the beginning...you must promise to help me. You always keep your word." He grabbed her white hand between his fleshy palms - amazing what strength the old man still had.  
  
"I will do the best I can for you, Gordon."  
  
"Do you promise? Will you give me your word?" The anxiety in his voice was naked.   
  
Her green eyes looked straight into his brown ones. "Yes. I give you my word."  
  
He relaxed, then smiled again. "I have a gift for you, Rowan. A gift of memory. Do you know what your last name means?" His eyes twinkled.  
  
She shook her head no, wondering if he had bothered to be so charming in his youth, or if age and illness had mellowed him.  
  
"It's really very unusual, yur name...a meaning for day, a meaning for night. Most names have only one, if any. What do you think it means?"  
  
Rowan studied the old man's face before she answered. She was unsure if this was his illness manifesting itself, or if the old fox was trying to set her up for something. At any rate, she would have to play along. She spoke slowly, her disquiet making her soft accent slightly more pronounced: "Well Gordon, 'daestar' sounds like 'daystar,' d-a-y, so I assume that would refer to the sun?"  
  
Gordon Rosewater's rounded face crinkled with pleasure. "Very good, dear girl. Yes, the sun, bringer of warmth and light. Sad that's such a rare sight these days. Now, what might the second meaning be, hmmm?"  
  
What was the point of all this? Ro smiled sweetly at the old man: "I really have no idea, not a clue." She clasped her hands on the table, like a child at school waiting for instruction. Oddly, she had a sense of deja vu.  
  
"'Dae' means 'great.' The greatstar. The northstar. Do you know what the northstar was?" He didn't wait for an answer. He was enjoying himself too much.  
  
"The northstar was the brightest, most steadfast star in the heavens. It would safely guide the lost pilots of ancient ships to their journeys' end. Did you know the night sky used to be full of stars? Such lovely things they were..." His voice trailed off as if he were contemplating the now-shrouded skies of earth.  
  
The young physician sat quietly, increasingly ill at ease with ths "gift." It was disturbing to be told her name symbolized phenomena long vanished from the world's consciousness. She suddenly shivered despite the room's warmth.  
  
At that point, Alex Rosewater returned to the kitchen. He was accompanied by one of the massive farmhand/security guards ubiquitous to the agricultural station ( they were all so physically similar Ro often wondered if they were clones bred on the farm as well.) "Father, may I speak with Dr. Daestar now?" asked Alex.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, of course, of course, son," said the elder Rosewater. He got up from his chair and took Rowan's hand again in his right one, patting it with his left. "I want you to know how very proud I am of you, dear child." With that, he left, followed by the huge farmhand.  
  
Alex Rosewater towered above the table, hands in his pockets, cool and bloodless as snow. He was a big man as well as tall (easily close to seven feet) and like using his immense physical presence to intimidate his lessers.  
  
This little trick of his never worked with Rowan. She would simply wait him out. Nevertheless he would always try before getting down to business. Perhaps he thought he'd crack through one day, reflected Rowan. However, she vowed, today would not be that day if she could help it.  
  
"Well," he said, "I suppose you'll prepare another prescription of something helpful, eh?"  
  
"As I said before," Rowan replied, "I can slow it down, nothing more." She leaned deliberately back in her chair, watching him with her feline eyes. The intensity of her emerald gaze almost made Alex feel like he was her prey. It was a novel sensation.  
  
"What do you want, Mr. Rosewater?" she asked coolly.  
  
Alex wasn't sure if she was playing her version of the intimidation game or not. It was a potentially dangerous question. He decided to stick to his original train of thought.   
  
"He's starting to get a bit delusional, you know. It shows up in little things, like his imaginary memoirs he wants to write. Also he is starting to get very suspicious of people...even me, can you imagine?...his own son. Can you do something about that? It is becoming...an annoyance."  
  
You cold bastard, thought Daestar. Your own father is losing his mind and you think this is an 'annoyance?' "It wouldn't hurt," she said with a slight edge to her voice, "to indulge him a bit, let him feel like he still has some control over his life, some dignity in his old age. He would be easier to deal with."  
  
Alex looked down at her, a thin half-smile playing on his lips. "Oh, come on...how many of us really have control over our own lives?"  
  
Another chill rolled down Rowan's spine, but she hid it well, staring him down coolly.  
  
"You know what I mean, Dr. Daestar." He drawled out the words as if he were playing with them. "We are all controlled by the past, even if we don't remember it. We are what we are made to be. Just look at your little school...do you really think you can make a difference in anyone's fate? Don't you believe in Destiny?"  
  
The cold spread throughout Rowan; she felt as if her entire being was numbed, yet she still retained her outward composure: "I believe in free will. There is always a choice to be made, good or bad." Damn you, she thought, I will not be cowed. Damn you and your civilized threats!  
  
The young woman gathered her papers, picked up a black briefcase from under the table and put the papers in it. "I am finished here. Call me if you start to see him deteriorate faster. I may have to adjust the dosage again." She flipped the briefcase lid shut.   
  
"By the way, I also read through the completed chromosomal studies on those new tomatoes. The synthetic genes are still seriously flawed, even though the ripe fruit looks good. You really should go back to the original source as your cloning base. I told you before I have the germ plasma available...I'll give it to you. You are going to have terrible consequences with your false creations."  
  
The younger Rosewater had the gall to actually smile. "I appreciate your concern, doctor, but that really won't be necessary. Paradigm Corp has too much invested in this line of research. We won't be needing your specimens."  
  
Ro looked down at her briefcase, checking the lock as she spoke: "Fine. I'll be going then." Rowan then gave Alex Rosewater a look of such cold comprehension that even he was slightly taken aback. He wondered just how much she DID know about Paradigm Group...so full of surprises, this girl. So entertaining.  
  
He followed her out to the front porch, where she made her farewells to his father. Rowan offered her right hand to shake, but the senior Rosewater gallantly kissed it instead, then thanked her effusively for coming. Finally Ro turned and left, walking down a broad path to her small car.  
  
As the sound of her engine faded with distance, Alex sat down beside his father. "You like her, don't you, Dad?"  
  
The old man smiled, nodded. "So much of her parents in her. They would have been very proud of their little girl."  
  
Alex smiled tightly. "Their little girl shares their flaws too. It will prove her undoing in time."  
  
Gordon turned towards his son. "Perhaps so, Alex, but not just yet. We still need our northstar, for the path remains dark. After that...we will see."  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven  
  
  
Rowan kept re-thinking the events of the last two days as she drove home. She had a nagging feeling that the mindgames played by the Rosewaters were far more serious this time. Something bad was definitely out there somewhere, just below the horizon, just beyond her grasp. Was she the target, she wondered, or the general population? Maybe they had simply gotten more expert at pushing her buttons.   
  
No, she thought. That's not like me to be so spooked without reason. There was something very wrong, gathering itself together. She would have to be ever more vigilent.  
  
It was early evening and starting to rain heavily when she finally pulled into her garage. Rowan was exhausted. The weather matched her mood. She decided not to tell Roger, not wanting to spread her gloom. Perhaps her tiredness was interfering with her analysis of the last forty-eight hours, and sleep would put it all back in perspective.  
  
The young woman unlocked her front door, and dropped her bags in surprise. The living room was aglow with candlelight, scented with dozens of roses. A pair of crystal goblets and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket were on the the low table by the couch.  
  
"Wha?" she muttered under her breath, "...what the hell is going on?"  
  
Just then Roger came out of the kitchen. He had a big smile on his handsome face. "Welcome home!" he boomed, wrapping his arms around her. He lifted Rowan up, planted a big kiss on her mouth, and set her down on the couch. "We have to celebrate!"  
  
"Boy," Ro replied, "I'm going to leave town more often if this is the result." Though she still felt bone-tired, his cheerfulness was irresistable.  
  
Roger smirked. "Look," he said, handing her an envelope. Inside were two bank checks, one from the Van der Arcs, one from the Mooneys. They totaled an unbelievable twenty million dollars. The fee had been set by the court - one percent of the net income of each company. Both checks had been made out to Roger Smith.  
  
"My god!" Rowan leaned back, shocked. She knew the history of the case (every negotiator in Paradigm did) and had been unsuccessful herself in working out an agreement between some distant cousins of both parties. Disgusted at their childish behavior, Ro had finally refused to handle any more of their requests. She simply would not put up with their soap opera lives. Roger had achieved the impossible. "This is incredible! What did you do? They're such awful people!"   
  
Roger told her, obviously very pleased with himself. Rowan listened intently, laughing with him as he described how it went. She called his solution a stroke of brilliance.  
  
"Roger, I think you've found your calling...and as for this," Ro held up the bank checks, "you're a free man now. Congratulations, Mr. Negotiator." She handed them both back to him.  
  
"Don't you want half?" Roger asked. "After all, they were referred to us, not to me." He filled the slender goblets with champagne and gave one to Ro.  
  
"No," said the young woman. "I would never have accepted the case. You earned this one, one hundred percent. Every other negotiator in town has failed with these idiots, including me. What you did was miraculous. Your reputation is made, sweetheart. Enjoy your success, you deserve it!"  
  
Her pleasure in his achievement shone in her face. She touched the rim of her wineglass to Roger's, then took a sip of the bubbly golden liquid. It was delicious, its alcoholic warmth spreading pleasantly through her weary body. "Roger, you are a genius."  
  
"You really think so, hm?" Smith moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder.  
  
"Uh huh." She sighed contentedly and snuggled against him, her eyes closed. Roger looked at her beautiful face, saw the fatigue in the dark shadows under her eyes. What happened out there? he wondered. Why wasn't she talking now abut her mysterious errand?  
  
"Rowan."  
  
"Hmmmn?" She nuzzled his cheek sleepily.  
  
"Where have you been for the last two days?" He felt her stiffen at the question.  
  
"You really don't want to know..." she began, but Roger hushed her with a light kiss on her lips.  
  
"Yes I do," he said. "Besides, we agreed, no secrets between us." He began to massage her shoulders, trying to ease her distress. He could feel the knots in her muscles.  
  
"Okay, you're right." She told him where she'd been and who she treated. Roger was surprised that she'd been willing to treat Gordon Rosewater until she told him why. Smith realized that she was being blackmailed in a sense to take care of the old brute. He had no idea how potentially lethal the synthetic foodstuffs Paradigm depended on were. Roger understood that this alone wouldn't have distressed Rowan so, as it was a frequently repeated situation and thus an old story to her. Something else must have happened. He coaxed her to have a little more champagne, hoping the alcohol would loosen her tongue.  
  
She finally told him of Gordon Rosewater's "gift" and the subsequent conversation with Alex (though she decided not to mention Gordon's book, as she was unsure if it was fact or fantasy.) Ro admitted that she was frightened. Her eyes flashed green fire. "Damn," she growled, "I didn't want to ruin the evening with this stupidity. I'm probably over-reacting to their little headgames. They are both so good at manipulation."   
  
Roger was furious at the Rosewaters, but there was nothing he could realistically do. He knew in his gut that Rowan was right to feel threatened. Despite her proven history as a tough and fearless survivor, she would need someone to watch her back now. Smith vowed to himself to be that person...he couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her. He knew she would never ask him for help.   
  
Roger also realized that his lady needed a diversion, preferably something playful, to soothe her troubled spirit. He decided to go for the basics - simple, but effective.  
  
"Rowan, I think you need a little 'r and r.' "  
  
" 'R and r?' " she echoed, puzzled. "What's that?"  
  
"I'll show you," said Roger. Smirking, he took the wineglass from her, seized her hands and led her into the bedroom. He went into the master bath, turning on the shower, and returned to his curious sweetheart. He proceeded to undress Rowan (to feeble protest and much giggling) and then himself. He insisted on bathing her with gentle thoroughness, making it a special point to massage her neck, shoulders, and back.   
  
Rowan found the whole procdure delightful. She wondered where he got the idea, then decided some things were better left unknown.   
  
Getting towel-dried was as delicious as being bathed. Her entire body tingled, glowing with the attention.  
  
Finally, satisfied with his handiwork, Roger gathered Rowan in his strong arms and deposited her in the middle of the silk-covered bed. He laid down beside her.  
  
"Now," he said, putting his arms around her lithe body and pulling her close, "for some r and r." Ro laughed softly...she was so tired and so relaxed she couldn't help herself, and asked, "Roger, what ARE you talking about?"  
  
"You still don't know?" he teased, kissing the top of her nose, then slowly moving his way south with his mouth and hands.   
  
"No," she laughed again, squirming pleasureably under his expert touch.  
  
Roger slid forward, so that they were face to face. His hands gently smoothed her inky hair. He nuzzled her, brushing his lips across her cheek.  
  
"It's this," he whispered in Rowan's ear. "Just me and you, Roger and Rowan. Let the rest of the world go hang."   
  
  



	12. Chapter Twelve.txt

Chapter Twelve  
  
  
The next day began most unusually. Roger woke up before Rowan. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he meticulously prepared himself for the day.  
  
He chose a dark grey suit, the sort of exquisitely tailored thing meant to impress jaded people. Not a strand of his gleaming black hair was out of place. His silk tie was flawlessly knotted.  
  
Roger Smith had several important errands to run today. Looking as good as possible always seemed to work to his advantage. He smirked at himself in the mirror.  
  
Before leaving, he left Rowan a note saying he'd be back by evening. He blew her sweetly sleeping form a kiss.  
  
Smith's first stop was at his bank to deposit the checks. The pretty blonde teller smiled flirtatiously as he approached her station. The handsome negotiator found this rather interesting, as she'd always ignored him in the past when he enterd in his Military Police uniform. Roger cooly handed her the deposit slip with the two bank checks; blank-faced, he waited to see her reaction.  
  
The girl glanced down, then did a double-take. Her face got pale, then red. She excused herself and sped over to the Head Teller. The two ladies conferred a moment. Then they both looked at Roger, who smiled his most dashing smile at them. Both women blushed, then bolted to the bank president's glass-walled office. Roger couldn't hear them as they spoke in the cubicle, but he could see how excited they were. He laughed quietly to himself, curious to see what would happen next.  
  
The president, a dapper well-spoken man, came out and introduced himself, with much scraping and fawning. Any service the bank could offer Mr. Smith would be at his disposal, the president declared, and at the best rates. The negotiator mentioned that he was thinking of buying some property. The executive's eyes lit up. He assured the grey-suited young man that he would be approved for any amount of mortgaging he might need, at low rates, and no points or penalties, as long as he remained a client of this particular bank.   
  
The president then personally deposited the checks and gave Roger Smith immediate access to the money.  
  
Shaking his head in amazement, Roger smirked as he left the bank. When all he could deposit was his police officer's salary, he'd have to wait a week to touch it, and got treated like dirt as well. Incredible, he reflected, on how money and appearance changed things.  
  
Roger then went to a car dealership Daestar had recommended. She had purchased her Aurora sports car from them, and had found both the salespeople and the car very satisfactory.  
  
Smith liked the way her little car handled. He was considering getting one for himself when he noticed a magnificent black sedan off to one side in the showroom. He asked the salesman what it was.  
  
"It's a Griffon, sir, a top of the line custom job. It's built by the same people who make the Aurora."  
  
Roger nodded, recognizing the name. It was the sort of auto used to transport imporant people. Its standard features included bullet-proofing and built-in defensive gadgets. He couldn't imagine what levels customizing might reach. Essentially it was a luxurious tank. There was nothing safer on the road available to the public.  
  
Roger ran his gloved hand over the mirrorlike black hood. "Would you like to take it for a test drive, sir?" asked the dealer. Roger looked up, surprised. "I thought you said this was a custom job. Doesn't it belong to someone?"  
  
The salesman shook his head no, explaining the buyer had backed out at the last minute. He could probably offer Smith a very good price if he wanted it.  
  
A couple of hours later, Roger Smith was the proud owner of the enormous car. He justified the purchase to himself as being a first step in protecting Rowan. Nothing could hurt her in here. The idea that she would probably prefer to drive her own car somehow never crossed his mind.  
  
Next on his list was a realtor. Roger had noticed a building newly marked for sale near Rowan's apartment. He had been fascinated by the place for several years. He couldn't resist when he saw the "For Sale" sign posted and made an appointment to see it.  
  
The real estate agent met him at the garage. Her eyes widened when she saw the car her new client was driving. Maybe, she thought, I can finally dump this white elephant of a building.  
  
As she showed the furnished place to the handsome young man, she explained its rumored history to him. It had supposedly been the home of a powerful industrialist pre-Event. According to the current owners, there was even a huge factory of some sort hidden away in a sub-basement, but no one could ever find the entrance.  
  
It was a big darkly elegant structure, with a vaguely gothic/art deco feel to it. The master bedroom and living room were on the top floor. They opened onto a gigantic patio, its dramatic view accented by several tall pillars.  
  
Roger could picture Rowan's greenhouse here, filling the space with her beautiful tamed jungle. There was plenty of room for both of them, and more, here. He loved the place. He put down a cash deposit. The realtor waited until he left, then started to jump up and down and shriek in glee.  
  
A visit with Major Dastun was next. This would be a two-fold task, and Roger wasn't sure how Dastun would react to either part.  
  
Dastun had been hearing rumors for a while about a new hot-shot negotiator in town. It hadn't taken him long to figure out who it probably was, and Rowan had finally confirmed his suspicions.  
  
The Mooney/Van der Arc settlement had been front-page news, and while the court-set fees were kept secret, Dastun knew they had to be substantial. He was not surprised when Roger showed up to personally hand in a letter of resignation.  
  
Dan had mixed feelings about losing the young man. It was something he had hoped to prevent. On the other hand, it was clear that Roger was happy with his decision. The major decided to take the high road and wished his ex-lieutenant continued success. "Just don't be a stranger," he said, filing the letter away.  
  
"Well," said Smith, "that brings up the second reason I'm here.' The young man suddenly looked nervous. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead.  
  
Dastun looked at him in surprise. He'd never seen Roger like this, not even when he'd chew him out for some screw-up. "Lt...er, Roger, what's the matter?"  
  
"Dastun," Roger began, then stopped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ran a gloved finger under his shirt collar as if to loosen it, then cleared his throat. He looked down and stuck his hands deep into his pockets. This was much harder than he expected.  
  
Major Dastun watched this performance in astonishment. What the hell was going on? he wondered. "Roger?"  
  
The young man finally met his gaze - he looked awfully pale, the major thought.  
  
"It's about Rowan, Dan. I -"  
  
Dastun interrupted him: "Rowan? Is there something wrong with her? Is she okay?" The major's eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed with anger. He grabbed the lapels of Roger's elegant grey suit. In a tight voice, he demanded, "Did you get her pregnant?"  
  
"NO! Dastun, I'm a gentleman - please!" Roger was startled by Dasstun's vehemence. This was not making things any easier.  
  
Dastun folded his arms. "Roger, I can't take this anymore. Spit it out. This isn't like you at all. What is going on?"  
  
"Look, Dastun, I'm sorry. I've never been in this position before and it's making me a little nervous. Just bear with me, okay?" Roger's handsome face was so earnest that Dastun was tempted to laugh, but didn't. Whatever this was about, it was very important to the young man. He nodded yes.  
  
Smith continued: "Dan, you're the closest person Ro has to a father. I think it is only proper to tell you I intend to ask Rowan to marry me." There. It was out. Roger prepared himself for a verbal explosion.  
  
Major Dastun stood motionless, his mouth open in astonishment. Any second now, thought Roger...only to be shocked when a huge grin crossed the major's face and he grabbed the younger man in a bear hug, almost lifting Roger off his feet.  
  
"This is wonderful - Roger, you have my blessing! Ro could do a lot worse." He vigorously shook Roger's hand. "When are going to ask her?"  
  
"Soon," said Roger. "I just want it to be right."  
  
The major couldn't stop smiling. "Well, this is the best news I've had in a long time. You know, she's talked to me a lot about you. She loves you very much, Roger."  
  
Smith had the grace to blush. "Do you think she'll accept me?"  
  
"If she has any sense, she will. Let me know when you can, okay?" Dastun slapped Roger on the shoulder. "Well, I guess you have things to do, so I'll let you go."  
  
Smith saluted his major one last time, then shook his hand again. "Thanks, Dastun, for everything. This never would have happened without you."  
  
"Nah,' said Dastun, waving him off. "Just name your first kid after me, okay?"  
  
Smith left, a new lightness in his step. There was one last stop to make.  
  
About a month ago, Roger had successfully handled a negotiation for a master jeweler named Robert O'Reilly. In lieu of a monetary fee, O'Reilly had offered to do some custom work as payment. The negotiator had accepted the offer, and asked him to craft three very specific items.  
  
Smith entered O'Reilly's tiny store, which served as both gallery and workshop. A small bell hanging from the door announced his entrance. A low metallic whirring sound coming from the back abruptly stopped, followed by a pleasant masculine voice: "Be right with you, gotta wash some polishing compound off my hands."  
  
Roger looked around at the displays as he waited, admiring the contents within. Each held a miniscule work of art crafted in gems and precious metal. The stones O'Reilly specialized in were not large, but they were perfect.  
  
"Hey, Mr. Smith! Your timing is perfect." Roger turned to face the cheerful O'Reilly, whose toothy grin and flaming red hair seemed to light up the store.  
  
"I finished your order yesterday...let me get 'em out." He returned to the back of the shop and came out with two small red velvet boxes. "Tell me what you think,' the red-haired man said. He loved his craft and took great pride in it. He put the pair on a counter and pushed them towards his client.  
  
Roger opened the larger one first. It contained two slender platinum wedding bands, both matte-finished so that they gleamed softly in the light. Smith took the larger of the two and tried it on, flexing his hand. The ring felt like it belonged there. He smiled and returned it to its mate.  
  
Next Roger opened the smaller box. It held another narrow platinum band, also matte-finished. A square-cut green opal was set flush in the metal, gleaming with every seaish shade of green, turquoise, blue...it was the same color as Rowan's eyes. A random scattering of tiny diamonds burnished into the silvery metal glittered on either side of the opal, flashing bits of rainbow fire. It was very beautiful.  
  
"Look inside the ring," beamed O'Reilly, offering Roger a loupe for a better view. In exquisite calligrahy, the jeweler had engraved the words: "All we have is Now," and a tiny infinity symbol with an "R" in each loop, one forward, one backward, so that they faced each other. When Roger whistled in admiration, O'Reilly told him that the other two rings were engraved in the same way, as Roger had asked.  
  
"This is perfect," the negotiator said, smiling with pleasure. "It's all perfect. The fee for our contract is paid in full as of now." Smith couldn't take his eyes off the engagenment ring. He had not expected to see his request so artfully executed.  
  
The jeweler nodded. "I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Smith. By the way, I like yur taste. I'm sure the young lady will be pleased."   
  
The two men shook hands. Roger tucked the boxes away in his suit jacket. Like Rowan, they were one of a kind.  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen  
  
  
Rowan was surprised to find herself alone when she woke. She found Roger's note and wondered what was so important that he would be gone before 8 AM. She didn't remember his having any appointments scheduled. Well, no matter...he had his reasons.  
  
Ro stretched luxuriously, then hugged Roger's pillow against herself. His scent lingered on its silken cover. She snuggled her cheek against it and smiled. He was so good to her. Finding love was the last thing she had ever expected. Whatever else the future held, she would always cherish this time. She sighed deeply.  
  
Much as she would have preferred to stay in bed, she also had things to attend to in the city. The printer had finished the last small portion of an old text-book order, but was too short-handed to deliver it. Someone had to do it, and she was the only one available. It was time to get up.  
  
Daestar bustled into the printing house, cheerily greeted everyone and loaded the packages into her car. As she drove off, the harried printer realized he had forgotten to tell her that a strange bearded man had been asking about her a few days earlier. He shrugged to himself. It probably wasn't important. He would tell her next time.  
  
When Ro got to the school, she saw how busy everyone was. She decided to bring everything in herself. Her arms piled high with boxes, Rowan didn't see the female student stick her foot out in front of her. She tripped, but recovered fast enough not to fall or drop anything.  
  
Startled, Ro turned and faced the young woman. "Is there a problem?" asked Rowan cooly, wondering what this was all about. She didn't recall seeing the mousy student before...they seemed to be about the same age. The other woman apologised, saying she didn't see her, but she glared defiantly at Ro with hot blue eyes and had the merest trace of a smile on her face.  
  
Daestar stood there for a moment, studying the drab figure before her. She was well aware that she had been deliberately tripped, byt why? She was positive they had never met before. The woman's name tag read "Angie." The name was not familiar.  
  
There was something troubling about this person, an undercurrent of anger and sadness and carnality hidden beneath the dowdy facade. Ro could see hints of the voluptous body beneath the ill-fitting clothes, noticed the delicate features under the mess of dirty blonde hair. She knew how hard it was to be poor and female; to be pretty as well could could be as much curse as blessing.  
  
Daestar decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She would drop the incident, only commenting, "You might want to be a little more careful." She readjusted her hold on the boxes, turned, and continued down the aisle.  
  
Angie's smile spread as watched the tall black-haired woman walk away from her. The wealthy fool doesn't have a clue, she thought to herself. If she's not willing fight for what she has, then she doesn't deserve it.  
  
Angie busied herself on the periphery of a shorthand class, sneaking glances at Daestar as she conferred with Berg and some of the other department heads. I ought to thank her, Angie snickered to herself, for opening up my eyes.  
  
Blessed with a sharp mind and a quick intelligence, Angie had no trouble following the teacher and daydreaming at the same time.  
  
She mused about why she had started taking classes months ago. Angie had learned of the place's existance through rumor and word-of-mouth. Like so many others, she came out of curiosity and stayed when she realized it was a genuine chance to improve her life. It certainly couldn't be worse thaan her current waitressing job, or the past she wanted to escape.  
  
Things had been very hard for as a child...all she could remember was pain, hunger, and fear. Her first real memories started in her eary teens, when she began to physically blossom. It was as if she had been a ghost in her own life, invisible to the world til puberty revealed her true self.  
  
Boys, and later men, had flocked to her. They offered her food, shelter, clothes, money. To survive, she let them use and abuse her, but part of her still childish mind grew to crave the attention.   
  
With time and experience, Angie's perception of life changed and hardened. She realized she could trust no one but herself. The world was a cruel place...if she didn't look out for herself, no one else would either.  
  
She knew she needed to learn other skills to survive on her own. Her sexuality was a weapon of great power - but if it was her only tool it would eventually trap her. Much better to keep it hidden til needed.  
  
Angie camouflaged herself, wearing baggy clothes, no makeup, messy hair. It worked too well. She hated looking this way. She missed wielding her magic touch over men. Only two things kept her going when she started school. The first was her determination to better herself by learning everything she could. The second was her belief that Dr. Daestar was a loser as a female.  
  
About a month ago Angie's world turned upside down. Up to that point, Angie thought she understood why someone rich and powerful like Daestar would be involved in something as unglamourous as a school. Either the slender brunette was an elitest do-gooder (ie., a chump) or couldn't get a man and so was bored.  
  
The latter made the most sense to her. Dr. Daestar was attractive enough, but didn't seem to know how to dress or act to get male attention. This secret conceit always made Angie smile. She liked pitying the pathetic society woman.  
  
Then one day Roger Smith walked in, elegantly turned out in a perfectly tailored black suit.  
  
Angie could feel his masculine energy as soon as her entered. It was like the air had been electrically charged. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She wanted him.  
  
She had tapped a fellow student on the shoulder, whispering "Who is THAT?"  
  
The other woman's answer had put a knife through her heart: "That's Dr. Daestar's boyfriend, Roger Smith. He seems to be a very nice man."  
  
Angie remembered feeling numb, then furious at the unfairness of the situation. She had picked a book to throw, then glanced at the title...she would never forget that title, how it had opened her eyes.  
  
It was about building generators - and that's when she understood Daestar's secret. Daestar had access to memories. That was why she was rich. That was why she was powerful. That was why she a beautiful man at her beck and call.   
  
Well, two could play at that game...Angie's musings were interrupted by the teacher. He was handing out paper for a pop-quiz.  
  
Angie glanced at the questions on the test...this would be a snap. She would be able to get out of class early today. There would be time to talk again with that bearded reported she'd met at the diner a couple of weeks ago.  
  
Angie smiled to herself, tucking some of her lank blonde hair behind her ear. How easy it had been to manipulate him. She had recognised his name on the press-pass he wore the first time he sat at one of her tables. "Michael Seebach: investigative reporter." She had read his work in the newspaper. He was a relentless hunter, a zealous truth-seeker willing to break all the rules for a story. Neither mercy nor compassion were in his heart, only the desire to know. His greatest passion - perhaps obsession - was the Event of forty years ago.   
  
Angie had flirted outrageously with him. He was no match for her well-honed skills. It didn't take long for her to turn their conversation to the school and its textbooks full of memories.   
  
How his yellow eyes had lit up! He called her his angel, and tipped her generously for the information.  
  
She liked being called "Angel." Perhaps that would be her new name for her new self. The name Roger Smith would call her, once Michael Seebach got rid of Dr. Daestar.  
  
Angie finished the quiz and handed in her paper. She left smiling. It was only a matter of time. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen  
  
  
Daestar returned home as soon as she had completed her tasks at the school. She needed to finish reading her medical journals and catch up on negotiator-related paper work.  
  
Her desk was piled high with case files, most of which she had mow stamped "closed." Although sleep and Roger's loving attentions had refreshed her physically, her mind rfused to let go of her anxieties. The tripping incident at the school hadn't helped. She had thought that the tedious necessity of paper work would prove a good distraction. She was wrong.  
  
What Ro had discovered was that several disturbing trends were developing in the enclosed world of Paradigm. Each event by itself seemed relatively meaningless; as a group they were alarming.  
  
In going through her case files, Rowan had noticed a subtle change in the nature of her negotiations. True, the majority were run-of-the-mill disputes with an occasional kidnaping or death threat. However, the return of troublesome memories had begun popping up with increasing frequency, memories often affliated with destructive technologies.  
  
Studies in her medical journals indicated the return of memory seemed to play a role in increased admissions to psych wards. A small but increasing number of people were becoming schizophrenic or paranoid.  
  
Rowan recalled a recent conversation with Dastun. He had complained that domestic terrorism was on the rise. To make matters worse, despite the pleadings of his superiors, the city fathers (ie, Paradigm Group) were not very interested in providing more police or equipment to deal with the growing problem. "Sometimes I think they want the city to explode," Dan had grumbled bitterly.  
  
The revival of the damaged Megadeus had taken the whole thing a notch higher. Someone had remembered how to pilot it, someone with memories of forty years past. No one would ever know who it had been or how it had happened. He or she had been conveniently vaporized in the battle.  
  
Lastly were the memory gaps and phobias afflicting so many people born after the Great Event. It turned out it wasn't only the older generation suffering from group amnesia. Sometimes it seemed to Rowan that she was the only person aware of this. She had noticed a long time ago that she had far more complete memories than her contemporaries and none of the phobias. Her only real gap was the two years spent in the strange orphanage.  
  
Most people, like Roger, seemed to have lost their entire childhood. More puzzling was that they never thought about it unless pressed, and then they would try to avoid the subject. If they did have a flashback, it would be ignored unless it provided information that could be sold or used in some way.  
  
Roger's violent reaction at the cave had shaken her badly. He had refused to discuss it afterwards. He wanted nothing to do with the past, especially his own. He had no curiosity about why his first sip of orange juice had triggered a flashback, and subsequent exposure did not. It was so unlike the rest of his approach to life.  
  
Ro wondered if that was why alcoholism was so common. It drowned out everything...memories, loss, fear. Perhaps a haze of beery confusion was simply easier for most people to cope with.  
  
Somehow, being isolated in the woods had protected Daestar from most, if not all, of this. She seemed to be the only one who could or would look at it without turning away.   
  
Maybe, reflected Rowan, that's what the old man meant, bringing light to day and guiding the lost at night...which meant he knew she was different from the others. This could not be good.  
  
She decided to put away her files and go into the greenhouse. She could always think better there. Perhaps she could meditate on all this and get a clearer perspective.  
  
Ro cleared off a worktable to make room for herself. She pulled herself up, sitting crosslegged, hands relaxed in her lap, her back straight. Rowan closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, holding it, then slowly releasing it through parted lips. She let her mind quiet, filling her awareness with green scents, leaf rustles, the sensation of sitting on the table. Her heartbeat slowed.  
  
The tumult of thought evaporated, leaving her conscious mind an empty vessel to be used by whatever lurked below her waking self. Rowan made no judgements about the images and sounds she bacame immersed in. She merely observed, storing it for more deliberate examination later. To think would stop the flow.  
  
Gradually Rowan found herself at the front porch of the farm station in Ilseberry. It looked newly built. There were three - no, four adults present - a woman and three men. Daestar realized she was an infant held in her mother's arms. She relaxed into the memory, opening herself to the experience. Her parents were arguing with the other two men. The older man was fiftyish, the younger about her parents' age. They looked similar, like father and son. She realized that they were Gordon and Alex Rosewater. The image started to fade. Rowan relaxed herself, got back into the flow. She let the angry words wash through her, clearly making out two phrases: "clones" and "synthetic people." The rest was lost, drowned out by the wailing of her infant self.  
  
Other memories, terrible ones, began to surface, melting into each other with lightning speed. They left only the taste of fear and a glimpse of her lost past.  
  
At one point she was strapped to a metal table. There were electrodes taped to her shaved head and red-glassed goggles over her eyes.  
  
They were showing her pictures at a rapid pace. There was a man talking about something she didn't understand and asking her questions. He talked in loving tones, calling her "dear child," "my girl.' He would shock her with something electrical if he didn't like her response, then tell her it was for her own good and she would forget everything.  
  
Rowan got shocked a lot. Stubborn as always, her child-self vowed to never forget his voice. Gordon Rosewater's voice.  
  
The scene faded, replaced by walls of fire surrounding her, burning books and buildings with equal ferocity. Vast numbers of flying horrors rained death upon the earth. Oddly, there was no sensation of heat, nor any sound. It was like peering into someone else's mind. Rowan breathed again, slowly, letting herself sink still further.  
  
Alex Rosewater suddenly appeared before her, white as death. "We don't need you anymore," he said, smiling his thin little smile. He thrust his icy hand into her chest, pulling out her heart. Even as she screamed, she noticed her blood did not stain his clothes.  
  
Gasping in terror, Daestar broke out of her trance. The last image had seemed so real - involuntarily she touched the smooth skin over her heart, half expecting to find a bloody wound. She could still feel his cold hand inside her.  
  
Rowan didn't know what to think. All she knew for certain was that she was on her own in this one. Certainly she dared not tell Smith. She was now convinced tht many people, maybe everyone, had been programmed to some extent from eariy childhood. The incident at the cave had shown her how powerful tht programming had been. Ro could not risk deliberately triggering it again. Forcing the issue might drive Roger into madness. Perhaps he was right - leave the past to the past. What could she do alone that wouldn't hurt the the two people she loved the most?...neither Roger nor Dastun deserved that. Maybe the next time she went to Ilseberry she could dig a little deeper without arousing suspicion. She would have to be patient.  
  
Going over to a sink by the worktable, she splashed cold water on her face. Still feeling upset, Rowan decided to start dinner, and do a little gardening. Working with her plants always soothed her. She had to calm herself before Roger got home. It was getting too hard to bluff him, he knew her too well. Warmth filled her, melting Alex's icy grip on her heart, as she recalled the night before. Roger could always think of something creative to shift her point of focus. She mentally blessed Dan again for introducing them. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen  
  
  
  
That evening, when Roger Smith returned, he paused for a moment in the golden alcove before letting himself into the apartment. He checked his handsome reflection in the great framed mirror, pulling out his comb and running it through his already perfectly smooth black hair.  
  
Roger smiled at himself, thinking of the first time he had stood in this spot, how nervous he had been. So much had happened these last six months. Rowan had been at least partially right in her prediction. She had indeed changed his life. He hoped she would let him do the same for her.  
  
The young man entered the apartment. He sniffed appreciatively...the delicious aroma of cooking food wafted through the air. Smith entered the kitchen, but Rowan was nowhere to be seen. He checked the oven timer. It still had time to go before it shut itself off.  
  
"Ro?" he called out. There was no answer. That meant she was probably in the greenhouse. The thick glass muffled sound very effectively. He pushed open the heavy transparent door by the fridge; it closed slowly behind him. Ro's cooking herbs were in this section. He plucked a peppermint leaf, chewed and swallowed it, enjoying its bright taste.  
  
Smith never tired of this place. It had quickly become a favorite refuge from Paradigm for him as well. Roger often wondered, if Old Earth had really been this lovely, what could have possibly possessed humanity to destroy it.  
  
The negotiator strolled the aisles of lush greenery, enjoying the peacefulness and the rich air. As his ears grew accustomed to the quiet, he could hear Daestar humming to herself up ahead.  
  
Walking softly, he sneaked behind several pots of bamboo, dwarfed by their 12-foot tall stalks. He peeked 'round the green-gold stems, watching his sweetheart busy at a potting table. She was trimming dead and excess growth from several small plants. She had knotted her braided hair on top of her head to keep it out of the way, using a twig to secure it. Rowan seemed completely absorbed in her task, oblivious to his presence.  
  
The young man relished the rare chance to watch his lover unobserved. She was utterly unselfconscious, too intensely alive in the moment to care about appearance. He sometimes wished he could be more like that. He'd certainly never stick a twig in his hair - he caught himself smoothing it down again out of habit.   
  
Roger lightly coughed to get her attention. He knew better than to startle her when she was holding pruning shears.  
  
Surprised, Ro turned towards him. Roger noticed she'd also tucked some violet-colored flowers behind her ear. Her face was smudged with dirt. He smiled broadly, softening the angles of his handsome face.  
  
She put down the shears and hugged his neck. "I missed you," she murmured in his ear. Roger crushed her gently against his chest.  
  
"Sorry I took so long," he said, wiping a smudge off her cheek. "You look as though you've been busy."  
  
Rowan glanced at the pile of trimmings. "Yeah," she shrugged. "I caught up on my paperwork and decided I needed a change of pace." She took the violet sprig from behind her ear and slipped it into the lapel buttonhole of his elegant grey suit. "And how did you spend your day today, Mr. Roger Smith?" she teased, her crooked smile begging for a kiss.  
  
Roger obliged before answering. "Oh, just running errands." He smirked; he couldn't help it.  
  
"Anything important?" She leaned against the table, still smiling.  
  
"No," he shrugged, "just the usual. Handed Dastun my letter of resignation, bought a car, put a deposit on a building not far from here..." Rowan interrupted him, her green eyes wide with surprise. "You did what?"  
  
Patiently, Smith repeated himself. "I resigned because I know what I want to do and it's not being a cop. Dan took it very well, so don't worry about him being annoyed with you. He's not." Ro nodded, relieved. She had felt a little uncomfortable about swiping one of Dan's best officers.  
  
"I bought a car because I needed one. I can't borrow yours all the time. Besides, I think you'll like it. It's a very classy piece of equipment." And all the better to keep you safe in, Roger thought to himself.  
  
"Uhmm, what's this about a building?" she asked.  
  
"Remember that big place on the corner I pointed out to you a while ago?" he asked. Ro nodded...it had a dark elegance that was hard to forget.  
  
Roger continued: "I saw it was for sale a week ago and arranged to see it today. Since it's not a fashionable part of town, the price was right and I put down a deposit. We can afford it. I know you'll like it."  
  
"But Roger," Rowan looked dismayed, "what's wrong with this place?"  
  
Roger smirked. "Look Rowan, this place is perfect for one person. It's a little cramped for two, and you never know what the future might bring."  
  
What is he talking about? wondered Rowan. What does he mean, 'what the future might bring?'  
  
Roger continued: "We'd have the entire building...plenty of space for your research, you could easily double your greenhouse, I could have a studio, we could both have offices, there'd be room to grow...you know what I mean."  
  
Rowan was confused. "Roger, I'm sure we could buy more space in this building. I don't understand."  
  
Roger smirked again despite himself. He took off his black leather gloves. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a tiny red velvet box, which he set down next to the pruning shears. Rowan looked at it, startled. She started to speak, but Smith shushed her with a finger to her lips.  
  
He got down on one knee before her and took her left hand in his. Although Roger had mentally rehearsed this moment hundreds of times, he suddenly felt nervous. His heart was pounding in his ears. He hoped she couldn't hear it. It's now or never, he thought. You'll never know if you don't ask.  
  
"Rowan." He paused. He looked at her white hand in his, kissed it, then interlaced his fingers with hers.  
  
"Rowan," he said again, softly, "I know this must seem awfully sudden, but I've been thinking about this a lot. I've never felt this way about anyone before. Having you in my life feels as if some missing part of me was restored, that there was a space in me I didn't know was empty til you filled it." I'm babbling, he thought. Her hand began to tremble in his. He held it a little tighter. Now or never, Roger, said his inner voice again.  
  
"I love you, Rowan. I want you in my life forever. I want to have a family with you. I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?"  
  
Rowan Daestar stood before him like a beautiful statue, stunned into silence.  
  
Roger feared she would refuse. There were dozens of reasons to do so, and only one to say "yes." He held his breath, his dark gaze riveted to her ashen face.  
  
Finally she spoke. "I didn't expect this," she said thickly, her accent heavy with emotion. "I didn't ask for this."  
  
Roger's heart began to sink.  
  
Her eyes brimmed with tears. She loved him desperately, but if her hunches were correct they would have a difficult future...and yet..."Roger Smith, you are out of your mind," she said softly.  
  
Fighting disapointment, Roger looked down at the hard tile floor he was kneeling on. "Rowan," he sighed, "if your answer is 'no,' please just say it. My knee is staring to ache."  
  
His remark broke through her tension. Laughing through her tears, the young woman tugged on his muscular arm to bring him to his feet. She stooped down to brush debris off his expensive pants leg.  
  
Roger rolled his eyes skyward, leaned down and took her by the shoulders. He pulled her up with gentle firmness. He took her small chin in one hand so she couldn't look away from him.  
  
His large black eyes searched her face intently. "You haven't answered my question." Roger could sense the conflict roiling within her. "Rowan, I know it won't be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is."  
  
He drew her close and kissed her forehead lightly. "Do you remember that first night, when you asked me what my heart's desire was? I know what my answer is...do you?"  
  
Rowan closed her eyes. She knew her answer too, in every part of her being. She would have to make the choice that was true to her soul and accept the consequences. She had lived her whole life that way - she could not do otherwise now.  
  
She opened her beautiful eyes and smiled so sadly that Roger was sure she was about to refuse him. She took his hand from her chin, kissed the broad palm, then pressed it aganst her cheek. "I would be honored to be your wife," she said.  
  
Roger's eyes widened in surprise. It took a moment for her words to register. "Did you say 'yes'?" I must have misheard her, he thought.  
  
She nodded, smiling her sweetly crooked smile again. She knew she had made the right decision. She could tease him now: "Yes, I accept your proposal...uh, unless you've changed your mind."  
  
"Changed my mind? Why you..." He smirked. "Rowan, as one negotiatior to another you know darn well accepting a proposal is binding to both parties..." he wrapped his strong arms around her slender body "...so don't go looking for an escape clause..." he kissed her hard on the mouth "...because there isn't any."  
  
He reached over to the potting table to pick up the red velvet box. He opened it and removed the engagement ring. Roger took Rowan's left hand in his right. "This," he said smiling, "will seal our contract." He slipped the band of gleaming metal and stone on her ring finger. It fit perfectly. The seaish opal glowed against her pale skin.  
  
They spent the rest of the evening making plans for their shared future. At one point Rowan removed the ring to admire it more closely. She noticed the delicate engraving inside the band. Surprised, she glanced at Roger, who merely smiled. She read the words, recognising them from their time at the cave. She turned the band and saw the tiny infinity symbol with its two "R's."  
  
Roger watched her turn the ring. He wondered what her reacton would be. He hoped she'd be pleased.  
  
Rowan gasped, then looked up at him. The day had been one of such emotional extremes for her. This tiny note was so full of love that she was truly overwhelmed. "I, I don't know what to say," she stammered.  
  
Roger put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. He returned the ring to her finger, then pressed the back of her hand to his mouth.  
  
"You don't have to say anythng," he answered. "Just stay here with me."  
  



	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen  
  
  
  
The next morning Roger Smith again woke up before his lady. He reclined quietly on the soft bed, caressing the supine Rowan with his dark eyes. She had thrown off the the blanket at some point during the night. The thin black silk pajama top she'd borrowed from him was the only thing preserving her modesty. Roger watched the slow rise and fall of her breath as she slept, and wondered if she was dreaming.  
  
She was such a study in contrasts, the extremes of ebon hair and pearly skin, the mix of strength and vulnerability. Roger remembered the pathetic handprint in the cave. Looking at his lover's tranquil features, he could almost imagine the face of the child she had been, a child who believed she had no future. He wondered what that child would have thought if she could have somehow overheard their discussion last night, of their plans for marriage, for family, for sharing the path ahead no matter what.  
  
Unable to resist touching her, he lightly traced the lines on the palm of one outstretched hand. Head, heart, life, fate; idly he wondered if the marks really held some arcane meaning. It was another question whose answer was lost in the past. Perhaps it was just as well. He covered her square palm with his own large one, flattening her hand against the mattress.  
  
The sensation must have filtered into Rowan's slumber. She turned onto her side, facing him, and opened her emerald eyes. The first thing she focused on was Roger's handsome face smiling at her. She smiled back sleepily, then raised her free hand to pat his messy hair. Roger cuddled her against him, so that her face rested against his bare chest.  
  
"Mmm," she murmured, "what time is it?" Roger glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "It's 8 o'clock," he said, stroking her dark head like a kitten. He smirked to himself, wondering how long it would take for his words to sink in.  
  
It didn't take long - she sat up wide awake in less than a minute. "8 o'clock?! How could you let me sleep so late? Why didn't the alarm go off?" She climbed over him to get to the clock. "It's turned off? Roger," she turned towards him, plainly irritated, "did you do this?"  
  
Roger lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, propped up by the pillows. He was smirking broadly at her, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at her indignation.  
  
"You find this funny? I've got meetings, errands, clients and you think this is funny? Oooh, you..." Rowan grabbed a pillow and started hitting Roger with it. He ducked, then seized the other pillow and started swinging at Rowan.  
  
They both started laughing during the battle, got tangled in the blanket and ended falling off the bed in a heap onto the floor. They lay there for a few moments, stunned. Roger couldn't stop laughing. Ro had the hiccups.  
  
"I'm sorry about the alarm," Roger finally managed to say. "I turned it off because you've looked so worn since Ilseberry. I thought you could use the extra sleep. I know you have appointments, I wouldn't have let you miss them."  
  
All forgiven, the pair got ready for the day. They both had full schedules in separate parts of the city. While comparing itineraries, Roger noticed his last meeting would be near the school, which was Ro's last stop. He suggested they meet there around 3 PM and have a late lunch after she finished.  
  
As they descended to the garage, they gave each other one last look-over. Roger looked splendid as usual, in a black suit this time. Rowan gave his tie a slight tug to straighten the knot. "Now you're perfect," she said, smiling at him. "Only now?" he smirked. He smoothed back a few loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. Ro was wearing a close-fitting grey pantsuit he especially liked on her. He smiled approvingly, then lifted her left hand to his lips. He kissed it just above the opal ring. The elevator door opened. "It's showtime," he sighed, and they went their separate ways.  
  
Rowan decided she had time to make a quick detour to Military Police HQ before getting bogged down with clients.  
  
Major Dastun was having his first cup of coffee for the day when Rowan breezed in. Dan was delighted to see her. Their schedules rarely coincided enough to allow more than an occasional lunch or dinnerdate. He immediately noticed the beautiful ring on her finger, but played dumb until she happily brought up the subject herself.  
  
He gave her a bear hug, lifting her clear off her feet. "I couldn't be happier for you than if you were my own daughter," Dastun said. "I'm only sorry your parents couldn't be here too." He patted her shoulder.  
  
"Dan," said Rowan, "Roger and I were wondering if you'd be willing to do somethng for us?" She smiled shyly, reminding Dastun vividly of the little girl he's rescued so long ago.  
  
"What is it, Ro? You know I'd do anything I can for you."  
  
She glanced down, her dark lashes shadowing her seaish eyes. "I know this probably sounds silly, But...would you be willing to pull double-duty for us? You're the only person Roger wanted as his best man, and I can't imagine anyone else walking me down the aisle...if it isn't too much trouble?"  
  
Dastun put his hands on her shoulders. "Ro, honey, I would be honored. I'll be sure to get the day off. Have you picked a date yet?"  
  
Rowan shrugged. "Sometime in the winter. Roger thinks Heaven's Day would be good, since it's the day we met." She smiled. "It would certainly be a hard anniversery to forget."  
  
Dan chuckled. "I would never have taken Smith to be the sentimental type. That shouldn't be a problem. There's plenty of time to manage the day off." He kissed her cheek in a fatherly fashion, and she turned to go, smiling gloriously. Dan pushed his cap back and rubbed his head, watching her leave. Who would have thought a blind date could turn out so well?  
  
Rowan's day sped by quickly. She stopped by the print shop to drop off more manuscripts before heading out to the school. The typographer greeted her familiarly, spending about twenty minutes discussing typesettigs and other minutiae. Daestar paid him and was halfway out the door when he called her back in: "Hey, Dr. Daestar, I almost forgot to tell you...there was a guy here the other day asking about you."  
  
"Oh?" Rowan wrinkled her nose. She didn't like strangers gettng curious about her. "Did he say who he was or what he wanted?"  
  
The printsetter shook his head no. "All he said was he had to talk to you. Didn't give a name or a reason. I thought you might want to know. He seemed sort of creepy."  
  
Great, thought Rowan. I don't need this now too. "What did he look like?" she asked.  
  
"About your height, maybe a little taller," he said. "Black beard and curly hair, kind of piled up on his head. Funny eyes, very light brown, almost yellow. He was in pretty good shape, not fat, not thin. Had a rough voice too, like he smokes a lot. Weird looking fella."  
  
Ro nodded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be exra careful." She smiled grimly and went on to the school.  
  
Despite the area's bad reputation, Daestar had never before felt afraid to be there. This afternoon was different. She was spooked. Every darkened doorway, every shadowy corner, seemed full of menace.  
  
Rowan pulled into the quiet allyway, parking as close to the barred door as she could. She hesitated before leaving the safety of her little car, carefully scanning her surroundings for any threat. Feeling foolish, she quickly got out, locked the car door, and entered the building.  
  
She scolded herself for her imaginings as she went to meet with Norman Berg. He was in the center of the building, administrating the controlled chaos like a general. He waved when he spotted the tall beauty emerge from the sheet-covered doorway.  
  
She waved back and went over to him. "Good afternoon, Norman. How are things going so far?" He always made her feel so formal. His many talents intrigued her...she often wondered what secrets his past held. She knew better than to ask - like Roger, he had no interest in his personal background, despite his fascination with whatever she dug up.  
  
"Most things are going quite well, Miss Rowan. The new parts we needed for the hydroponics class have arrived intact this time, so we can start scheduling for that again. Also...oh my!"  
  
Norman took hold of Rowan's left hand, moving it to make the ring glitter on her finger. "Congratulations, Miss Rowan. Is Mr. Smith the lucky gentleman?"  
  
She nodded happily, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.  
  
"Well done! I must say I always liked your young man. There was something about him that struck me, as if I'd known him before. Can't quite put my finger on it. It doesn't really matter though, does it? You are both happy and that's all that counts. Very best luck to you both.!"  
  
Rowan smiled with pleasure. "Thank you Norman. That's very sweet of you. By the way, Roger wants to talk to you about some things when you have the time...something to do with a car he just bought. There's somethng else as well. We are buying another place to live and we were hoping you'd help supervise any work that needed to be done. You'd be paid very well, of course."  
  
"It would be my pleasure, Miss Rowan. Now, before I forget, a gentleman arrived here shortly before you did. He wishes to speak to you about the school. He insisted on waiting for you."  
  
Rowan grimaced. "Did he identify himself? What does he look like?" she asked. Norman's response closely matched the printsetter's description. She sighed, realizing she would have to meet the mysterious stranger. Since the school officially did not exist, calling the Military Police to remove him would only cause trouble for herself and Dastun. "Where is he?"   
  
The older man pointed to one of the small teaching labs off the main room. All the walls were glass, allowing everyone a clear view of the visitor. He was sitting on a stool, his back towards them. "I thought it best to put him where I could keep an eye on him," said Norman. "Don't worry - we'll all be watching when you go in there."  
  
"You're the best, Norman, thanks!" As Daestar approached the lab's door, the man turned to face her. The printsetter was right. There was something creepy about him. Well, she thought, better to face him here than outside.  
  
Sitting quietly nearby, Angie had eavesdropped on the conversation between Berg and Daestar. She laughed quietly to herself. The annoying brunette didn't have a clue about what was going to happen, she thought. This was going to be fun. Angie turned her attention to the lab, smiling coldly.  
  
The tall dark stranger stood up when Rowan entered the room. The intensity of his gaze was disturbing; Ro felt as if he was trying to swallow her with his yellow eyes. She shook the sensation off. He couldn't be any worse than Alex Rosewater, could he?  
  
"I understand you have been looking for me?" She spoke with deliberate casualness, her hands in her pockets.  
  
"Yes I have, Dr. Daestar, for quite a while now," he rasped (Rowan could smell the stale tobacco on him - it made her want to gag.) "You know, doc, the press photogs don't do you any justice." He whistled. (Angie snarled outside at that comment. What did these men see in this thin brunette anyway?)   
  
"If you have a problem with the society page's choice of photographers, I suggest you bring it up with them, not me," Ro snapped. "Who are you? What do you want?" Angry, she glared at him, her green eyes meeting his coldly.  
  
The stranger blinked, then chuckled. "You live up to your reputation as a straight-shooter, I see. That's good. I'm tired of games..." Rowan interrupted him: "...'tired of games?' Then what is this?" She seriously considered throwing him out bodily herself.  
  
"Now, now...I am being rude. Let me introduce myself. I am Michael Seebach. I am an investigative reporter for the Paradigm Press. I want to do a story on this endeavor of yours." He stretched one arm out, gesturing towards the classrooms beyond the glass walls.  
  
"No,' said Daestar.  
  
"How can you say that? you are the only person willing to look clear-eyed into the past, and you refuse to help me expose the truth of it?" He stepped towards her.   
  
"What are you talking about?" She kept her distance from him. If he really worked for Paradigm Press, then he would be linked to Rosewater.  
  
"I've heard you roam the underground tunnels freely. Take me with you."  
  
Rowan felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As far as she knew, only Roger was aware of her forays into the subways beneath Paradigm. They argued about it frequently.  
  
"Mr. Seebach, you are wasting your time and mine. I can't help you. What you are searching for will lead you to madness or death. Let it go."  
  
The writer shook his head. "I am surprised at your reaction, doc. I know Paradigm holds no place in your loyalties. I thought you were a seeker of truth."  
  
"My concern," responded Daestar, "is not for Paradigm, but for its citizens. What you want to do could unleash another disaster. That IS the truth. Some things can only be done slowly. Leave it alone! Go investigate loan sharks or shady businessmen. You'll do a lot more good."  
  
Seebach looked at her, puzzled, his head cocked to one side like a bird. "You really mean that, don't you?" he asked quietly. He seemed oddly deflated, as if all the fight in him had evaporated (Angie smiled. The scene was playing perfectly.)  
  
Rowan looked at him coldly. "Please leave now, Mr. Seebach. You know the way out." She opened the door and stepped out. She had had enough.  
  
After the reporter left, Daestar waited almost twenty minutes before leaving the building. She did not want to bump into him outside, and she needed to run one last quick errand before Roger met her.  
  
As she exited, she carefully looked about. Assuring herself that all was clear, she got halfway to her car when she heard Michael Seebach call her name. She started running to her car when two young thugs stepped out from behind it.  
  
She stopped, and took a quick glance behind herself. The reporter was blocking her way back to the school. A third kid, tall and skinny with curly blond hair and a nasty smile, was beside him.  
  
"Did you really think I would give up so easily, doc?" sneered Seebach, grinning toothily. His teeth were yellow from smoking. "You don't get to be an investigative reporter if you're not persistant."  
  
"You're making a big mistake, Seebach!" yelled Rowan. "All you're going to get from me is a lawsuit!" She prepared to defend herself, waiting to see who would make the first move.  
  
The larger of the two punks by her car approached her. "C'mon, baby, don't make it hard on yourself," he said, reaching out to grab her. She grabbed his arm instead and flipped him hard onto the sandy ground, knocking him out.  
  
"What the?..." muttered Seebach. He hadn't expected this. The second kid pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "No girl messes with my buddies," he growled. "You need to learn some respect, bitch." He slashed the air with his blade.  
  
"NO!" yelled Seebach. "Don't hurt her! I need her alive!" The skinny kid next to him pulled out a stungun and zapped the reporter unconscious. "You shoulda thought about that earlier, press-boy," the kid sneered. "You didn't pay me enough."  
  
Ro kept her distance from the moving knife, watching for an opening. She kicked the blade from his hands, then reached out to throw him as well. Just as she grabbed him, the first kid got back on his feet and charged her from behind.  
  
Rowan flipped the second tough onto the first, knocking them both down, but she lost her footing on the sandy dirt and fell. The larger thug flung himself on top of her upper body. She struggled fiercely, biting his arms as hard as she could. The second kid hung onto her flailing legs.  
  
"Beck, help, she's a #*&$%@! wildcat!" yelled the punk getting bitten. The skinny kid strolled over and jolted her with the stungun. The punk on top of her yelped from the shock. "Hey man, you nearly got me too!" He stood up, looking at his bloody arms. "Jeez, look what she did to me." He kicked her still form in the side. "Bitch."  
  
"Don't worry about it," said Beck. "Just dump press-boy over the fence. I bet Angie's right, she's worth a lot more than what he paid us." He snickered, then pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He rolled her on her side, taping her wrists behind her back, then her ankles. Rolling her on her back, he paused a moment to look at her. "She's a pretty thing, ain't she. Even if we don't get more money, we can have some fun with her." He put tape across her mouth. Beck then started checking her pockets. "Let's see, car keys gotta be here somewhere...ah!" He pulled them out triumphantly.  
  
Beck then got up and went over to her car. He unlocked the trunk. "Will you look at all that storage for such a little car...how convenient." He turned to his companions. "Dump her in here."  
  
As they closed the trunk lid, they heard the sound of another car at the allyway entrance. They glanced around. "Stay calm, boys," said Beck. "He didn't see nothing."  
  
Roger's last appointment had finished sooner than expected, and he had decided to surprise Rowan by showing up early. He knew something was very wrong when he pulled into the entrance and saw the three young hoods closing the trunk of Rowan's car. He angled the Griffon so that it blocked the entrance completely.  
  
Roger got out of his car, holding a remote control in his right hand. "What are you boys doing to that car?" he asked calmly.  
  
The trio turned to face the tall black-clad man. His dark sunglasses gave him a menacing appearance.  
  
"Hey man, it's our car! Mind your own business," yelled the kid with the bloody arms.  
  
Smith smirked coldly at the words. "That's the wrong answer, punk." He flipped a switch on the remote. A pair of machine guns smoothly clicked into place on the sides of the Griffon. "I don't like liars," said Smith.  
  
"He's bluffing, guys," said Beck. "That stuff's all for show."  
  
"Oh, you think so?" Roger pressed a button, letting loose a hail of gunfire into the ground, stopping just short of their feet. Beck dropped the car keys.  
  
"What do we do now?" whispered the bleeding tough.  
  
"RUN!" shrieked Beck. The three dashed to the fence and scrambled over it, disappearing into the maze of narrow streets.  
  
Roger ran towards Rowan's car. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the trunk. Oh god, he thought, looking at his sweetheart's limp body. He put his fingers against her neck,searching for a pulse. To his relief, he found it. "Those bastards," he muttered to himself. Carefully, he lifted her out of the trunk and carried her to the school's door, which he began to kick. "Let us in," he yelled, "Rowan's been hurt!"  
  
The door flew open. A table was cleared and Roger laid her down on her side. He carefully pulled the tape from her dirt-streaked face. Someone produced a knife and Smith cut the tape binding her ankles and wrists. Rowan started to come to at at that point; she began to thrash wildly. Roger grabbed her wrists, pulled her into a sitting position and hugged her, rocking her like a child as he spoke soothingly. He noticed the twin burns on the side of her neck, typical of a stungun.  
  
Roger could feel Rowan calm down as he cradled her. He pressed his face into her hair. Why was this happening? he wondered. He wished he could take her away, but there was no place to go. Paradigm was the whole world.  
  
He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her face towards his. "Ro, are you okay?" She nodded yes. Someone offered her a glass of water. Daestar drank some, poured the rest in her hand and splashed her face. Clearing her throat, she spoke with quiet ferocity: "I want a restraining order on that damn reporter. I want to sue him and Paradigm Press. I don't care what it costs. I will NOT be treated this way!"  
  
"I don't understand," said Roger. "Who are you talking about? What reporter? Who were those punks?"  
  
Norman pushed his way through the circle of onlookers. "She means Michael Seebach."  
  
Roger's eyes widened in surprise. "Seebach? He's got a great reputation. Why would he go after you?"  
  
"Because of this." The young woman gestured towards the books. "He thinks I'm his key to unlocking the past. My name isn't on any of them - why he would decide to pick on me makes no sense. Someone must have said something."  
  
(Angie, eavesdropping in the shadows, grimaced. Nothing had gone as planned. Those idiots had screwed up royally.)  
  
Ro put her hand to her forehead. "I have a terrible headache! What did they hit me with?"  
  
"A stungun. You've got burn marks on yur neck." Roger touched the angry red marks lightly. She winced, then looked up at Smith. "You know, I think I remember the skinny kid stunning Seebach. The little creep double-crossed him. He might still be out there."  
  
"I'll take a look," said Roger. "Maybe I can talk some sense into him if he's there." He ground his gloved fist into his palm as he walked out. He would talk with more than words if he found Seebach out there; Roger had never been so angry before in his life.  
  
The negotiator carefully inspected the ground. It was one of those times when his police training came in handy. He could recreate the scene in his mind. His sweetheart must have put up quite a battle, judging by the way the soil was torn up. He found blood stains on the sand, and recalled the bloody bite marks on the larger kid's arms. Smiling grimly to himself, he bet they'd match Rowan's teeth. She was not someone to push around.  
  
Roger then noticed an object partially buried near the blood stains. He brushed the sand off it. It was an open switchblade. There was no blood on it. Roger closed it and put it in his pocket. Perhaps there were fingerprints on it; he would bring it over to Dastun if Rowan didn't object.  
  
Roger continued scanning the area. There were drag marks leading to the fence. They looked like they were made by something fairly large and heavy, definitely man-sized.  
  
Smith re-traced the marks, looking carefully for more clues. At the base of the fence he spotted a small piece of white cardboard caught between the wooden slats. He pulled it out. The name "Daestar" was handwritten on it. He flipped it over - it was a business card. It read: "Paradigm Press, Michael Seebach. Investigative Reporter," and had his office telephone number on it.  
  
Well, thought Roger, it might not be enough to sue Seebach with (and nobody sued Paradigm Press, that was simply impossible) but it will give me some leverage to keep him away. He pocketed that too.  



	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen  
  
  
Roger Smith's career as a Military Police Officer had often been dangerous. Frankly, that had been one of the job's original attractions for him, before the frustrating reality of it had set in.  
  
Now that he and Ro were living together, he had been surprised to discover that Rowan shared his taste for risk and then some. It hadn't been enough for her to merely thumb her nose at Paradigm with her school and her books.  
  
Instead she would tempt fate by going on "quests" (her phrase) for days at a time. Her choice of hunting ground depended on her quarry.  
  
As a medical botanist, she was always searching for plants to supply original research material. They often provided the only counteragents to the tainted synthetics being used by Paradigm. Ro would frequently vanish into the wilderness without any prior warning, leaving long before Roger would wake. She would reappear days later, scratched, dusty, and too tired to talk. Her knapsack would overflow with carefully prepared specimens.  
  
This drove Roger crazy with both worry and curiousity. He finally persuaded her to let him come along with increasing frequency. Smith soon learned that the mean streets of Paradigm were well matched by the hazards of the not-so-natural world. The use of biological and nuclear weapons had created all kinds of unexpected mutations over the last four decades. A rabbit could be as venomous as a rattlesnake. Poison ivy sap could cure some kinds of cancer. Nothing could be taken for granted. It was quite an education for Roger.  
  
Rowan had other hunting grounds far worse than this though, and they had troubled Smith greatly even before the incident with Seebach.  
  
She would regularly descend into the subways tunneling beneath the city. For some reason she had never developed the mind-numbing terror that thwarted so many other would-be explorers. Daestar had drawn extensive maps of much of the buried network, marking where she'd found treasures of old technology, or books, or...sadly...remains of the dead.  
  
Roger begged her to stop her underground wandering to no avail. Even Seebach had not fazed her. Smith worried that if she got into trouble she would never get help. "There is nothing down there worth risking your life for," he insisted.  
  
Rowan, on the other hand, told him he was being close-minded, and that it was his phobia talking, not him. She saw no reason to give up something she had been doing safely for years. It was a frequent source of argument.  
  
Finally they negotiated a deal. Smith agreed to accompany her on one of her journeys so that he could see for himself that the danger was minimal. Rowan, for her part, reluctantly promised to cease her explorations if anything happened to cause him concern. She knew she would have to work hard to convince Roger she was right, but she was as stubborn as he was.  
  
She decided to check out an area near the building they had newly bought. The tunnels there had been blocked off until recently, when excavations for new water pipes cleared away debris.  
  
They drove to a quiet side street, parking near a manhole cover. This would be their entrance to the lost world below. Rowan pulled a couple of knapsacks out of the backseat, along with a pair of flashlights. She handed one of each to Smith, who was getting paler by the minute.  
  
Roger slipped on the knapsack and checked the flashlight. He felt slightly nauseous, but he steeled himself. His ego wouldn't allow him to back out. Roger kept repeating to himself that his fears were irrational, that if Daestar could do this, he certainly could. After all, he was bigger and stronger than she was. Besides, if he was going to keep his private vow to protect her, he would have to go along. He could be stubborn too.  
  
Using a crowbar, Rowan removed the manhole cover. She went down first, shining her flashlight up so Smith could follow her visually. Halfway down, she called to him, reminding him not to look down as he descended.   
  
Roger had to admit to himself that keeping his eyes on the patch of grey sky above did help. Rowan talked to him throughout the downward climb, her sweetly soothing voice feeding him tidbits of information to keep his thoughts occupied. His Military Police training proved useful too, helping his rational mind subdue the underlying panic.  
  
Once down onto the old tracks, Daestar's expertise made her an excellent companion. She was determined to make this interesting for Roger, rather than the ordeal she knew he expected. Ro distracted Smith so thoroughly that he began to forget he was afraid. She started to hope that she had won this argument once and for all. Maybe he would join her down here as well. It would be nice to have his company.  
  
As they wandered down the rails, Roger noticed where a bricked-up secton of wall had collapsed, revealing a previously sealed room. A double set of tracks led into it. He shone his flashlight into the darkness, where it reflected off a large metal structure seated on both sets of tracks. It almost looked like a rounded building on top of twin locomotives.  
  
"Let's get a closer look," said Rowan, grabbing Roger's hand. Reluctantly he followed her. Something about it gave him a terrible sense of foreboding, but he decided not to say anything. He did not want to sound like a fool.  
  
The contraption they had found was unbelievably massive. Daestar stepped back to broaden the area her flashlight lit up. They were finally able to get a vague idea of the real shape of the thing.  
  
"My god, Roger, what have we found?" murmured Rowan. In the darkness, she couldn't see the look of sudden recognition on his face, followed by a dream-like calm. "It's a prairie dog," he said flatly.  
  
"What?" Startled, Rowan swung towards his voice. "You know what this thing is?" There was no reply. She could barely make him out in the distance, running towards a ladder on the side of one of the engines.  
  
"Roger! Roger what are you doing?!" She started running after him, terrified. His actions made no sense.  
  
The moment Roger had gotten a decent look at the prairie dog, something went "bingo" deep inside him. He felt compelled to get into it and climb to the top. He dropped his knapsack and flashlight on the ground when he reached the ladder. They were no longer needed. Even in the darkness he knew the path.  
  
Frantically the young woman ran towards the spot she'd last seen Smith. She tripped over his knapsack in the dark, and retraced her steps, finally locating the ladder. She found his broken flashlight at its foot. Rowan could hear Roger moving high above her, and called his name again. There was no answer.  
  
She began climbing up after him. Just as Ro reached the top, a grating metallic noise filled the tunnel. She nearly fell off the ladder in surprise. Then silence. Rowan screamed his name.  
  
As Roger climbed far above the ground, he felt split in two, trapped within himself. A small part of his conscious mind heard Rowan's frantic voice and wanted desperately to respond. The greater part of him seemed to be controlled by an outside force. It was like being caught in a nightmare, unable to wake up.  
  
Bizarre images flashed inside his mind, too quick for anything to be consciously retained. At the same time he was blindly climbing into a dead cockpit of some sort that opened noisily before him. Feeling around, he pulled himself into the pilot's seat. It felt oddly comforting.  
  
He then located a sealed compartment on its side, with buttons inset on the door. He punched them rapidly, unlocking it, and removed a watch-like device. He put it on his left wrist. Roger then touched a control on the device. A soft electric hum filled the stale air. He held the watch face close to his mouth and in a monotone said, "It's showtime."  
  
A round screen blazed into crimsom life before him. Cryptic words marched across it: "Cast in the name of God...Ye not guilty." At that point, he felt a stabbing pain in his wrist under the watch dial.  
  
For a moment, Roger regained control of his body. He tried unsuccessfully to remove the device. It was attached to him. He could feel the fine needles piercing to the bone, feel the coldness of something being injected.  
  
He could sense his other self trying to regain control. NO, Roger growled inside his mind, this can't be happening - I WON'T LET IT!  
  
He tried to push himself out of the pilot's seat, then fell back. Without warning, the round screen before him lit up like a sun gone nova. The small spce was briefly filled with red light. It was so brilliant he could see the bones in his hands as he covered his closed eyes. It felt like the light had seared into his brain. Roger passed out.  
  
(At that moment, a secretary delivered a message to Alex Rosewater. He smiled slightly upon reading it, then turned towards his father. "It's finally begun," he said.)  
  
Meanwhile Rowan forced open a door at the top of the ladder. It opened onto a flight of stairs going up still higher. She dashed up, choking in the thick air, her only thought to find her Roger. She cursed herself for being so stubborn. As she reached the top and stepped out onto the rough metal surface, a brilliant glow of bloody light illuminated the scene.  
  
She was standing atop an ancient Megadeus lying on its back in the prairie dog. Shocked, Rowan forced herself to quickly scan its vast surface in the fading light, trying to locate Roger.  
  
Ro thought she saw movement near what looked like the neck section of the Big. Shining her flashlight on the spot, she was horrified to see her beloved Roger slumped in the cockpit.  
  
He was semi-conscious when she got to his side. Thin trails of blood trickled from his eyes like tears. Trying not to panic, she put her ear against his broad chest. His heartbbeat was fast but strong.  
  
Thank heaven for small favors, Ro thought. She opened his eyes gently, looking at his pupils. Both had shrunk to the size of pinpoints. He must have directly exposed to the full strength of the beam, she realized...what if it had been a laser? Oh god, she cried silently, please don't let him be blinded! She had to get hm out of here fast.  
  
Rowan ripped fabric from her shirt, using it to blindfold him to prevent further injury. Then she checked his limbs for breaks...fortunately the bones were whole.  
  
Somehow the young woman mustered the strength to drag him down to the tracks. She grabbed Roger's discarded knapsack and used it to pillow his bandaged head.  
  
Rowan pulled a canteen out of the other bag. Carefully she poured a tiny amount of liquid into Roger's mouth, massaging his throat so he'd swallow. Then she splashed some on his face.  
  
He groaned, muttering somethng unintelligable, then sat up. A small portion of Rowan's mind arced back to the cave and hoped this wasn't going to become a pattern. She put the canteen to his lips again. Roger drank some more, quickly. He reached up, gingerly feeling his head and the blindfold. Ro took his hand before he could remove the cloth.  
  
"Roger," she kissed his dusty forehead, lightly brushing his hair off his face, "Roger, can you hear me, do you understand me?" Her voice was shaky despite her best efforts to sound calm.  
  
"What's happening to me?" he whispered. "I feel so - awful - like all my nerves are on fire..." His voice faded off, then started to rise with his growing panic: "Why am I blindfolded? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!?" He tried to get up. Rowan held him down, half-sitting on him for leverage.  
  
"Roger, listen to me," she said as soothingly as possible, trying to soak up his fright. "There was some sort of accident. We have to go home. Do you think you can walk?"  
  
"But I can't see."  
  
"I can lead you. It's not far. I saw a service elevator near here, I'm sure I can make it work."  
  
Smith sat motionless. The sensation of being divided within himself strengthened, as if there were two versions of Roger Smith battling for control of his body. Am I going mad? he wondered, trying not to get overwhelmed. He knew he had to get back up into the light, or he'd be lost in the darkness growing within him.  
  
"Help me stand," he directed Rowan. As tall and strong as she was, the young woman still staggered pulling Roger up. He had some trouble getting his balance, and almost toppled them both over. Leaning on her, he pressed his hand against the bandages. "I feel like my head is going to explode," he moaned painfully.   
  
Rowan shone the flashlight on his face and neck, carefully avoiding his eyes. All the exposed skin was slightly flushed, and he did feel feverish. The possibility that he was suffering from some sort of radiation poisoning crossed her mind. She felt sick at the thought.  
  
Rowan stuffed one knapsack inside the other, and slung that one on her back, in case they needed the supplies to get them through.  
  
"Come, love," Daestar said to Roger. She placed his arm around her shoulder, and wrapped her arm firmly aroound his waist. "Let's go home," she continued. "We'll walk slowly. It's not far."  
  
They made their way down the shadowy tunnel. Rowan continued to silently curse herself. If he was permanently injured, if his beautiful dark eyes never saw again, she would never forgive herself. She fought an impulse to scream in anguish, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Ro could feel the surrounding darkness pressing down around them, threatening to swallow them both into its black silence.  
  
The elevator door, catching her flashlight beam, loomed before them. Daestar got Roger to lean against the wall while she opened the service panel and fiddled with the wires. There was a shower of sparks and the diodes glowed back to life. The door opened majestically.  
  
Daestar hustled the injured Roger into it and punched in the lobby number. She held her breath as the elevator creaked and groaned its way up. As they ascended, Rowan found Roger's sunglasses in the knapsack and put them on him, partially covering the blindfold. They would have to walk to the car and they didn't need to attract attention. To Rowan's surprise, the elevator opened onto the ground floor of the building Roger had bought. It had been hidden behind a wall panel. There was no time for Rowan to wonder about the coincidence; she had to get him back to the apartment.  
  
The streets were deserted and they made it back to her car without further trouble. She rushed to her place, parking next to the service elevator going to her lab. She managed to get Roger out of the car when he collapsed in her arms.  
  
Miraculously, Norman Berg had just entered the garage on some errand of his own. He saw Ro struggling to hold up Roger's dead weight. Berg ran over and helped her half drag/half carry the unconscious young man into the elevator. Reaching her lab, they lugged him into the bedroom and got him onto the mattress.  
  
Daestar asked Berg to close all the blinds and darken the room while she removed Roger's shoes and shirt. She noticed some dried blood on his left shirt cuff and sleeve. At first she thought it was from the blood on his face. Then she removed his watch (how odd, she thought, that I never noticed it...I've never seen one like that before) and spotted four bloody punctures on his wrist under the watch face.  
  
The young woman turned the watch over. The underside was bloody but smooth. Another puzzle. She wiped it off and put it on the nightstand by the bed.  
  
"Norman, please keep an eye on Roger. I have to get some things." She hurried to her lab.  
  
As Norman stood by the silent young man, he noticed the watch on the small table. He felt a compelling need to touch it. Berg picked it up, examining the odd dial and its side controls closely. He pressed two of the buttons, then deliberately placed it on his wrist.  
  
There was a low hum. Suddenly he jerked his arm and paled, gasping. The moment passed, and he removed the watch. There were four small red dots on his wrist. He wiped the back of the dial clean and replaced it on the nightstand.  
  
Norman felt strangely different, more alive than he had in years...he couldn't put his finger on it. He also felt a new sense of purpose. Somehow it tied him to the young man lying helpless before him.  
  
Mysteriously, Berg now knew he had to remove the blindfold and give Smith the rest of his instructions. The older man reached towards him, but stopped when he heard Daestar approach. It would have to wait.  
  
Rowan returned with a large case full of equipment. She removed the blindfold gently. In the dim light of the bedroom, she could see that his pupils had dilated somewhat. Using a penlight, she checked the reflex. To her relief it was normal for both eyes.  
  
Daestar then drew some of Roger's blood. She put a few drops in each of three vials, each half-full with a colorless liquid. She shook each one sharply, then shined the penlight on them.  
  
Two remained colorless. The third turned a brilliant purple. She whistled tonelessly in surprise. No wonder he felt on fire...his neurotransmitter levels were tremendously elevated. His central nervous system was burning itself out. She didn't want to think about the consequences if she couldn't stop it.  
  
She went to her linen closet and grabbed a small towel. Rowan made a soft gag of it, forced open Roger's mouth and slipped it between his teeth and over his tongue. She tied it firmly. She then placed a pillow beneath his head.  
  
Daestar sped back to the lab. She removed a vial of golden plant extract from a fridge and filled a hypodermic with the liquid, squeezing out a couple of drops to be sure there was no air in it. She quickly returned to the bedroom.  
  
"Can I do anything, Miss Rown?" asked Norman. (Although her presence delayed completion of his mission, he felt no urgency to get her out of the way. He knew her loyalties were completely with Roger. They were all on the same side. They were all good soldiers.)  
  
"Yes," Rowan said. "Stand on the other side of the bed to make sure he doesn't fall off." Ro leaned over Roger and kissed his forehead. "I love you," she whispered. She then rolled Smith's limp body over a bit. She wiped the skin generously with antiseptic. Carefully, Ro plunged the thin needle into his spinal cord, just below the base of his skull. Swiftly she rolled him back flat. Rowan waited, praying silently, offering herself to whatever forces there were in the universe in exchange for Roger's recovery.  
  
There was a moment of perfect stillness.  
  
Then all hell broke loose. Roger arched violently, then went ino a full seizure. It lasted for under thirty seconds, then abruptly stopped.  
  
He was drenched in sweat. Rowan checked his vital signs...all was normal. She removed the gag - he had bitten halfway through the cloth. He no longer felt feverish to the touch, his skin was no longer flushed. Ro listened to his heart with her stethoscope. The beat was strong, regular, no longer racing.  
  
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she lightly brushed his lips with hers. She knew her battle had just begun.  
  
Norman came over to her side, putting his hand on her shoulder and patting her. The initial reaction of his exposure to the device had settled down, and there was a kind of blending of his old and new selves. He no longer thought of Rowan as merely another good soldier. He now remembered who she was, the long friendship he shared with her, the relationship she shared with Roger. He would fulfill his mission when he could...taking care of these two young people came first. Norman squeezed Ro's shoulder in genuine sympathy. "Is he going to be alright, Miss Rowan?" There was a slight catch to his voice.  
  
"I don't know. It's too soon to tell." Rowan shakily smoothed her love's matted hair with her fingers. He'd be so upset if he knew what a mess it was, she thought sadly. She turned to face the older man, and thanked him for his help. She then kissed him on his cheek.  
  
Berg blushed. "Now, Miss Rowan, I'm glad I could be of some service. I do have some errands I must attend to, but I'll come back later if you'd like." He bowed slightly, back to his old-world self. She thanked him again, and he let himself out.  
  
Rowan kept vigil at Roger's side. She decided to open the glass panels to the greenhouse, flooding the room with oxygen-rich air. She kept close tabs on his vital signs, sponging him down when the fever returned, and taking small blood samples to keep track of what was happening inside him. (Rowan didn't dare hospitalize Roger. She couldn't risk exposing him to anyone with connections to Paradigm. At the very least that would bring Seebach back into their lives. At worst, Roger would be seen as an experiment in progress and be taken away.) He was injected twice more with the golden extract, but there were no more seizures. Roger Smith finally drifted into a deep restful sleep.  
  
Rowan spent much of the remaining night pacing quietly in the bedroom. Although caring for her fallen companion was paramount, other thoughts were swirling through her.  
  
She had absolutely no doubt that Roger had indeed been a lab rat. He might have been one of the other kids at the orphanage. He must have been carefully prepared for something, but what? What did the Megadeus have to do with it? Was he supposed to pilot it? Daestar recalled the destruction of the ruined Big so many months ago. Was that to be Roger's fate as well?  
  
She shoved the thoughts aside. Now was not the time. She had to concentrate on getting her lover well.  
  
Berg returned before dawn, giving Rowan a chance to shower and eat. He insisted that she try to nap a bit on the couch, telling her, "You're no good to him if you wear yourself out," and shooed her out of the bedroom.  
  
As soon as the older man was certain she was asleep, he picked up the device on the nightstand. He pushed a button on its side, activating a series of concentric circles. Each circle was actually made up of highly compressed data, flashing at lightning speed.  
  
Berg stared at it intently, nodding to himself, then clicked it to re-set. He went over to Roger, gently opened one of his eyes, and placed the watch dial directly before it. Norman clicked the button, restarting the flow of information. This was repeated twice more, each time providing a totally different data stream.   
  
Mission comnplete, Berg returned the watch to the table. He kept careful watch over his sleeping charge, alert to any movement. Any outside observer would have compared Norman to a faithful dog by his master's side.  
  
A few hours later, Daestar awoke from her troubled sleep with a terrible gasp. She had dreamt that Roger had been replaced with a duplicate.  
  
The young woman rushed into the bedroom, startling Norman who put a finger to his lips. In hushed tones, he assured her that there had been no problems while she slept.  
  
Rowan went over to the bed to get a closer look. Roger was still deeply asleep. He had an expression of utter peace on his smooth face...no one would ever guess his earlier suffering to see him now. Rowan lightly put her hand on his cheek and neck. He was cool to the touch. The fever had broken.  
  
She realized that, at the very best, it would probably be months before she knew if he had made a full recovery. Despite her quick work, there was still the possibility of subtle damage. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  
  
Smith stirred when her lips touched him. He opened his black eyes and turned to face her. He smiled.  
  
Daestar, startled, smiled back. "Hi," she said softly. She could feel tears of relief beginning; she blinked them back unsuccessfully.  
  
Roger stretched and rolled over on his side to face her. "I had the strangest dream...," he began, when he noticed Norman Berg sitting by the bed. "What are you doing here?" he asked in surprise. Then he noticed the tears running down Rowan's face. He reached over and wiped her cheek. "Why are you crying? What happened?"  
  
Norman answered, cutting off Rowan's reply. "You had a small accident, Master Roger, but everything will be alright now. You're in good hands."  
  
Daestar looked at Berg in surprise. He had never addressed Roger that way before. She turned back to Roger. He didn't seem puzzled at all about being called "Master Roger." Alex Rosewater's words about being led by forces 'greater than we can imagine' echoed in her mind. Who are you really, Roger Smith? she wondered. Who have I fallen in love with?  
  
"An accident?" asked Roger. "You mean in the tunnels?"  
  
"Yes," said Rowan. She told him what had happened.  
  
The young man's dark eyes widened in surprise. "So that wasn't a dream...it really happened.Hmmm." He stretched his arms and smoothly flexed his hands. "I feel fine...I don't think I've ever felt better, in fact." He started to get out of the bed.  
  
"Hey,' said Daestar, pushing him back down, "not so fast. You are NOT going anywhere, sweetheart, til I check you over. I don't understand what happened to you. There may be residual effects. Please, for my sake if not for yours."  
  
Roger looked at her, then noticed Berg (who was behind her) nodding his head "yes." Smith shrugged. "Fine, Ro. Whatever you want, if it makes you feel better. I know I'm okay."  
  
Norman excused himself, saying he needed to prepare for the school day. He knew his real work had barely begun.  
  
****************************  
  
Rowan spent the next week running every conceivable test possible in her lab. She could find absolutely no trace of damage. If anything, the incident had left Roger in even better shape than before. His reflexes were now unbelievably fast. He was stronger. He had greater stamina. His mind was sharper. It was as if he had been fine-tuned to his most efficient levels.  
  
Roger was different on a more subtle level too. He seemed to be more self-contained, as if he was having some sort of inner dialogue. Ro would catch him sometimes staring absently, as if his mind was far away. Yet, beyond that there was nothing Rowan could put her finger on. He still treated her the same as he had before all this. He even teased her about losing the subway argument, though that was as far as he would go in discussing it. Other than that, he refused to talk in any depth about what had happened. He would brush it off, saying he couldn't remember it, and change the subject.  
  
Rowan would have to wait and see.  
  
***************************  
  
The next few weeks passed without anything extraordinary happening. No terrorist threats, no mass poisonings, no multiple deaths...no Megadeus flattening the city.  
  
Alex Rosewater was getting annoyed. He had been assured that the activation of the latest pilot was successful. This one had been especially important to him, prepared for elite fighter status. A Megadeus in almost perfect condition had been carefully set aside for him.  
  
This pilot was so important that Paradigm had even arranged for a guide to lead him to the Big.  
  
Alex reread the file on Smith. All the samples taken at the time of capture had been at peak. The matching of Smith's brain waves with the artificial intelligence of the Megadeus had gone smoothly. Each had accepted the pattern of the other without hesitation. The drugs and subliminal protocals needed to release long-buried programming had been administered as well.  
  
There were supposed to be only two possible outcomes for this kind of intensive conditioning: either the pilot became the creature of the Megadeus (ie, Paradigm) abandoning his old life, or the pilot went mad and finally died in the process.   
  
Obviously since all was calm, the first objective was not achieved. To make matters worse, the young pilot not only survived, but was still leading a normal life. This meant he was a free agent, able to do as he wished with the Megadeus when he decided to take command of it. It was inevitable that he would to so - it was a part of him now.  
  
Rosewater wondered how the program could have gone so wrong. Someone interferred, clearly...but who would have the knowledge or motive to do so? He flipped through the file again and his eye fell on the name "Rowan Daestar." At his father's insistance, she had been Smith's northstar.  
  
Alex remembered how angrily he had argued with his father over letting her be used that way. Alex had felt she was too unpredictible, too uncontrollable. Most of her conditioning had never taken. Gordon had argued (correctly, Alex had to admit) that that was why she'd be the only one who could find the Megadeus and the only one Smith would trust enough to follow to it.  
  
Both Alex and Gordon assumed the pilot conditioning would completely take over at that point. Smith's old life would be left behind, forgotten and abandoned. Daestar must have figured a way around it.  
  
Alex put the file down and gazed out the glass walls overlooking the cityscape. The answer was out there somewhere, hidden in Rowan's files or Rowan's mind. He smiled thinly. The girl was as enertaining as ever. No matter, he thought. He would discover wht she did and correct it. It might take a little time, but he was a patient man.  
  



	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen   
  
  
For Roger Smith and Rowan Daestar, life began to settle into a comfortable but hardly routine path.  
  
True to her word, Ro had stopped her subway explorations. It irked her a lot, but a promise was a promise. Roger had nursed a faint hope that he might tame her a little bit, but she had quickly set him straight on that notion.  
  
Unable to search underground, Rowan had increased her treks to the wilderness. Her one concession (as Roger wryly called it) was agreeing to always drag Roger along with her. He didn't really mind too much though - the trips were always interesting, even if often uncomfortable. Besides how else was he to keep her safe despite herself? If this was what it took so be it. They both understood the need for compromise.   
  
Rowan, on the other hand, kept a vigilent eye on Roger after his near-disasterous encounter with the Big. She remained quiet about her fears, not wanting to trigger another flashback.  
  
As time passed, most of the subtle personality changes she had noticed in him had faded. Rowan began to believe they had been the result of shock and nothing more sinister. His physical changes remained, however. Although he had always been fast and strong, she could (in the past) sometimes best him when they would go to the gym and spar. This was no longer true. Rowan was now hopelessly outmatched by her partner. Roger was rather pleased by this, though. He was not above smirking in triumph when he would pin her to the mat.  
  
Meanwhile, they completed their purchase of the dark mansion and hired Norman Berg to renovate it. He promised to have it entirely in move-in condition by their wedding day (which was fast approaching.)  
  
Norman proved to be extremely efficient. The living quarters were soon in more than adequate shape, and the couple began to slowly move their belongings in. They began splitting their time between the new place and the old.   
  
Rowan's office, lab, and greenhouse remained untouched for the moment. These would be the last things moved. As a result, Rowan would periodically spend some of her working time alone in her old apartment.  
  
This particular morning started ordinarily enough. Ro's first task of the day was to go to the dressmaker and pick up her wedding gown. Roger had wanted to come along, but she had laughingly talked him out of it. "It's supposed to be bad luck," she teased.  
  
Rowan's next stop was at her office. She let herself in and went straight to her file cabinets to catch up on more paperwork. She finished her negotiation casework quickly, and decided to go through her medical files next.  
  
To her surprise the cabinet was unlocked. She didn't remember leaving it open, having long made it a habit to secure everything when she was done. Ro opened the drawer. Everything looked fine til she came to the "S" section. That had obviously been rifled through. In fact, one of the files had been misplaced. It was marked "Smith, R" but it belonged to a Richard Smith, an elderly patient she had treated a long time ago.  
  
Rowan's heart began to pound...someone must have been looking for information on Roger, but who? and why? She ran into her lab. Research papers were scattered everywhere.  
  
Daestar stood in shock for a moment, then sagged against a worktable, suddenly exhausted. She was glad that she had had the foresight to encrypt all of her records on Roger. No one would ever figure them out, even if they found them. Ro wondered if she should simply destroy everything...maybe they would be left alone then. At any rate, she wuld have to clean up this mess.  
  
Her private phone rang as she was gathering up the files. Assuming it was Roger, she picked up the receiver and greeted the caller warmly. To her dismay, the voice on the other end was not Smith. It was Alex Rosewater.  
  
"We need to talk, Dr. Daestar. There is a car outside for you," he said.  
  
"Is this about your father, Mr. Rosewater?" Ro asked cautiously.  
  
"Dr. Daestar," Alex said in his cool, calm way, "neither of us like to waste time. If you do not come voluntarily, I will send someone to get you. It is your choice." As he waited for her answer, Ro could picture him smiling in that hateful way of his. She sighed. "I'll be right down," she said and hung up. She then called home, hoping to reach either Roger or Norman, but no one answered.  
  
A cream colored stretch limo was parked in front of the lobby entrance. A white-clad security guard bowed deeply and opened the car door for her. As he closed the door behind her, Rowan noticed there were no door or window handles in the compartment. She was separated from the chauffeur and the guard by a thick plate glass window as well. Knowing she was in real trouble, Daestar started pounding on the door, trying to break out the glass...a sweet scent began to fill the air. She started to feel groggy, and tried covering her mouth and nose but it was too late. Everything went black.  
  
*****************************************  
  
When Rowan came to, she found herself seated in a comfortable chair. She was in a huge office whose outer walls were entirely glass. She recognised the cityscape before her. Only Paradigm HQ commanded that view.   
  
Cold grey light flooded the room, throwing into silhouette the massively tall man in front of her. She assumed he was a guard, since she couldn't see his face.  
  
A large expensive-looking desk was next to her. On top of it was a small, beautifully made leather box, the type that held old-fashioned pens and ink bottles.  
  
Rowan blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. The last thing she remembered was trying to get out of the limo. She still felt a little foggy.  
  
"Ah, welcome back, Dr. Daestar." The familiar voice came from the tall man by the glass wall. It was Alex Rosewater. "Would you like something to drink? That gas does tend to parch throats."  
  
She nodded, and a giant of a servant presented her with a crystal goblet brimming with fresh cold water. Rowan studied him - he was identical to both the limo-guard and the chauffeur, and to all the workers at Ilseberry as well.  
  
Delicately, she sipped the liquid. As her mind cleared, she realized her forearm hurt. Rowan rolled up her sleeve and saw a small bandage on the inside of her elbow.  
  
"What did you do to me?" she demanded. She tried to get up, but was overcome by dizziness nd stopped. She was slightly nauseous too. Ro forced herself to sip more water. She concentrated on controlling her breath, calming her nerves. She had to be fully alert...she was in the lion's den.  
  
Rosewater approached her, leaned against the desk beside her. She could see him clearly now, brightly illuminated by the cold grey light.  
  
"What did I do to you? Nothing, Dr. Daestar. We just took a blood sample to see what, if anything, Roger Smith has done to you. We simply wanted to know what bargaining chips we have before we open negotiations with you."  
  
What Roger Smith had done to her? Bargaining chips? What the hell was Alex talking about? Carefully choosing her words, Rowan spoke: "As you said before, neither of us like to waste time. You are speaking in riddles, Mr. Rosewater. You have no right to invade my privacy or my body by taking blood without my permission. What is the reason for this outrage? I've done nothing to you."  
  
Rosewater cocked his head at her. He smiled. His eyes actually twinkled, much like his father. "Ahh, but you ae quite wrong abut that, Dr. Daestar. You HAVE done something. You have interfered with a very important project, almost ruined it in fact. If nothing is done soon, it WILL be ruined and we shall have to scrap it entirely."  
  
The young woman's green eyes widened in surprise. "If this is about the tomatoes, I told you that I'd share my specimens with you. All you had to do was ask..."  
  
Alex chuckled. Rowan suddenly felt very afraid. She'd never heard him do that before...and how did Roger fit into all this anyway?  
  
She soon found out.  
  
Rosewater stood up, walked behind her chair and placed both of his massive hands on her shoulders. Rowan stiffened - Alex never touched anybody. His fingers tightened in the soft areas above her collarbones.  
  
"Dr. Daestar, Roger Smith is the project." He began to massage the soft areas as he continued to talk: "He is the culmination of forty years of research and experimentation. There were so many false starts, so many dashed hopes...until Roger." Alex's strong fingers began to dig harder.  
  
"He was perfect in every way. We did everything to ensure success, everything. There was only one mistake..." Rosewater's powerful hands dug deep into Rowan's shoulders. She fought not to pass out from the pain. Tears of agony rolled down hr face. Her arms went numb.  
  
Abruptly he let go. He jerked the chair around, and leaned down so that their faces were inches apart.  
  
"You interfered, Dr. Daestar. You corrupted our project somehow and you are going to have to make it right...or you will lose everythng." His face was as icy as his whispered words.  
  
The young woman tool a deep breath. Her shoulders still throbbed from his bruising grasp. Focus, Rowan, ran through her mind - focus or all is lost...don't give in to the pain. Don't give in to that cold-hearted bastard. She pulled herself together. "You mentioned 'bargaining chips'" she muttered.  
  
Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. He stood up and straightened his snowy suit jacket. "I always liked that about you," he said. "Nothing ever distracts you from the negotiation at hand." He smiled slightly.  
  
He's out of his mind, thought Rowan, and no one knows I'm here. She tried moving her arms - although the numbness was fading, they were still weak. It didn't matter anyway. She could never escape from Paradigm HQ on her own. She would have to play out Alex's game and hope to outwit him.  
  
She smiled back at him. "Please continue, Mr. Rosewater," she said. Ro's face was calm, her voice professional.  
  
Alex's smile widened. "Excellent," he said. "I'm so glad we can discuss this sensibly." He began to pace as he talked. "If Smith doesn't finish the process, the physical changes started that day will kill him. We estimate he may have another month until he dies from a delayed toxic reaction."  
  
Ro felt the blood drain from her face. None of her lab work had picked this up. She remained silent, watching the tall man walk back and forth. He continued: "If Smith does complete it, he will become ours to command, as is his proper destiny as pilot of the Megadeus. Of course, he will forget his old life and leave it behind. A pilot cannot have such distractions and function properly."  
  
He reached over to the elegant leather box on the desk and slid it in front of Rowan. He opened it and removed a glass vial full of an oily red liquid. He placed it in front of her. The fluid seemed to glow and move with a life of its own.  
  
"You must inject Roger Smith with this. It will restart the procedure you somehow stopped, and bring it to completion. This must be done within the next two weeks or it will be too late to restart. If it isn't done he will die."  
  
The young woman glanced at the bottle, then lifted her beautiful eyes towards Rosewater. "You are playing with me, Mr. Rosewater. Either way I lose Roger. This is no way to negotiate anything - what's in it for me?"   
  
"I am so glad you asked. As I said before, we needed a blood sample from you to be sure." He paused, enjoying the moment.  
  
"To be sure of what?" asked Rowan.  
  
"To be sure of what Roger Smith has done." Alex chuckled again. "He has gotten you pregnant, Dr. Daestar"...(shock registered on her face)..."oh, it's too soon for you to have noticed, just a week, maybe two at most, according to my people...but you would know the timing better than they would, of course."  
  
"Why should I believe you?" she sked, once he voice returned. She was always so careful! - Roger's physical changes were more far-reaching than she'd thought.  
  
Alex shrugged. "Why should I lie? You can check for yourself easily enough."  
  
Rowan was beginning to get a vague sense of deja vu. "What does this have to do with these negotiations?"  
  
Alex suddenly became very serious. "If you do this," he touched the vial, "you get to keep the child as a souvenir of your little romance."  
  
"And if I don't?" Her voice was flat.  
  
His eyes glinted. "If you don't, we take the child too - and you have nothing left but your memories."  
  
The waking nightmare of Alex coolly pulling out her heart flashed behind her eyes, flooding Ro with fear and anger. I will NOT be controlled, she thought, and seized upon her anger to smash the image. She would have smashed the real Alex too, if she could have gotten away with it.  
  
She would find another way to thwart him...but first she had to get out with the drug, had to get back to her Roger. But how? She had to unsettle Alex, somehow, rattle him a little bit. That would give her the upper hand by making him feel a little unsure. Logic wouldn't work, neither would a plea for compassion. She would have to do the unpredictable.  
  
She rubbed her hands together, the last tingling vestige of numbness finally leaving. She then stood up, stretching her arms and displaying her body. She sensuously glided her hands over her clothes to smooth the fabric. She glanced covertly at him and was pleased to see she had his attention. "Please excuse me," she said (smiling at Alex as if she hadn't a care in the world) "but I'm feeling a little stiff."   
  
She moved gracefully to Rosewater, whose hand was still on top of the bottle. Rowan stood next to him, looking him full in the face (though he stood at least a head taller than her) in her most feline manner. She then placed her cool hand on top of his. She saw his eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he didn't move his hand. Ro silently laughed inside. She had found his weak point. No one ever touched him either, especially not like this.  
  
"You know I can't agree to this immediately," she said, her accent sweet and seductive. Rowan applied the tiniest bit of pressure to his hand. She heard Rosewater's breath catch slightly. His free hand suddenly adjusted his tie. His face reddened slightly. So there IS some blood in there after all, Ro thought grimly. She smiled the crooked smile that had captivated Roger at the Policeman's Ball almost a year ago (she didn't know it, but even Angel would have been impressed.)  
  
Alex was actually speechless for a moment, then found his voice. "Uh, I, um...I understand, it IS rather sudden..." As he fumbled for words, Ro lightly squeezed his hand.  
  
"Why don't you let me take the bottle and think about this? That way we won't waste any time...I know how much you hate wasting time." She moved closer to the tall man, debated whether or not to touch him elsewhere, settled on another smile instead. A drop of sweat appeared on his temple.  
  
Alex abruptly broke eye contact, but he still didn't move his hand from hers. He took a deep breath.  
  
Ro stood absolutely still. She would wait forever if she had to, would do whatever was necessary to get the liquid without agreeing to final terms. A contract once agreed upon was binding under any circumstances. She would agree to nothing but contingency terms. Rowan watched the tall man carefully, searching for clues to his thoughts.  
  
Alex straightened himself. He looked down at the beautiful young woman, smiled his thin little smile. "You're still the best negotiator in Paradigm," he said. He moved his hand from hers, replaced the glowing red vial in the leather box, and handed the whole thing to her.  
  
"Perhaps my father was right about you after all...he always said you were a sensible girl at heart, unlike yur parents." He touched an intercom on the table and called for a limo to be brought. "You will do the right thing once you think it through, won't you?" He lightly placed his hand low on her stomach. "You have too much to lose otherwise." Ro wanted to spit in his face, but continued smiling instead.  
  
"Send the emptied vial back with the the needle you use, and I'll know that you agreed to this contract," he continued. "Here is the courier to contact." He gave her a card with a phone number on it.  
  
A secretary appeared, announcing that the car was waiting. "Til later, Dr. Daestar," Rosewater said, and bowed his head slightly. Rowan bowed her head in return, and followed the secretary out. She clutched the box tightly.  
  
The cream colored limo dropped her off in front of her old apartment. Rowan ran to her car and carefully placed the leather box next to the garment bag holding her wedding gown. They were to be married in three weeks. If Rosewater was telling the truth, she would be a widow in under a month, regardless of which path was chosen...unless she found a third way. First though, she had to tell Roger. She started her car and headed back to to the dark mansion.  
  



	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen  
  
  
To Rowan's relief, both Roger's car and Norman's motorcycle were in the garage. She brought the leather box and the garment bag upstairs and left both in the bedroom. Although she did not expect either man to greet her on her return (she assumed they would both be too busy doing something somewhere in the huge place,) she was surprised by the total silence.  
  
she could not locate either man anywhere. Perhaps Rosewater had taken them too, deciding to take matters into his own hands after all? No, that couldn't be, there would be some sign of trouble - neither Roger nor Norman would go without a fight. They had to be here somewhere.  
  
Daestar went back down to the lobby and looked around carefully, searching for clues. She noticed that a wall panel in a corner had been set aside. It was the covering for the service elevator they had used the day they found the Big. Curious, she pressed the button to open the doors. As soon as they parted, she could hear a metallic whirring sound like a giant drill. Rowan decided to investigate...technically this wasn't breaking her promise to Roger. She was just going to the sub-basement of their home, not the subway tunnels. She entered the elevator and pressed the lowest setting.  
  
When the doors opened, the young woman stepped out and was startled by the view before her. The once-dark space blazed with light. Machinery and tools surrounded her, gleaming and well-oiled. In the middle of the vast floor was a tremendous platform equipped with equally large pulleys and cranes, all arrayed on a network of scaffolding and catwalks. The object within this metal webwork was the cause of her dismay...the black Megadeus stood there, terrible and beautiful, its sculptured face suddenly reminding her of Roger.  
  
Daestar shaded her eyes against the spotlights, looking for the source of the whirring noise. A glint of reflected light caught her attention - it was Norman working on the open cockpit. He turned the tool off and went to the back of the pilot seat, gesturing. Roger stood up from behind it, and sat down in the seat. It looked like he was adjusting the controls.  
  
Rowan couldn't believe what she was seeing. This day's revelations had shaken her to the core. To first learn of Roger's possibly terminal condition (and the surprise of her own) from Rosewater, and now this...and she had not had a clue about anything. She didn't know whether to be angry or scared. Either way she was profoundly disturbed.  
  
Daestar walked over to the platform, waving her arms and shouting Roger's name. The two men turned towards her direction at the same time, then looked at each other and exchanged words. Roger turned back and waved at her. "Stay there!" he shouted. "I'll be right down!"  
  
In a few minutes he was on the platform floor beside her, smiling sheepishly. He gave her a hug and a kiss. "I didn't expect you home so early, it's still morning," he said.  
  
"I can see that," Ro said flatly. She seemed paler than usual.  
  
Roger was well aware that his sweetheart was upset. How do I explain this to her? he wondered, when I don't understand it myself. The Big O (he knew that to be its true name, just as mysteriously as he now knew how to pilot it) had become a compulsion for him, and for Norman too.  
  
"Ro, I know this looks peculiar, but I have to do this." The look on her face told him that this was NOT the right thing to say.  
  
"I am going to lose you to them, aren't I, Roger?" She whispered the painful words, more a statement than a question. Rowan looked utterly stricken.  
  
"No, Rowan, don't say that, don't think that, please..." Roger grabbed her as she fainted. Holding her easily in his arms, he realized this was no place for her to be. He brought her upstairs and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her down gently, got some cold water and a towel and lightly sponged her face.  
  
Ro murmured something unintelligible, then opened her eyes. She glanced at Roger, then turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow. She shook with silent tears.  
  
Confused and a little frightened, Roger sat down on the bed next to her and began to quietly stroke her silken hair. He had never seen her react to anything this way. This kind of emotional collapse was not like her at all.  
  
Roger hated not being able to comfort her; he lightly squeezed one of her shoulders - with a pained gasp she jerked away from his touch. What the hell?...thought Roger. He grasped her arm and made her turn to face him. "Rowan, what is wrong?" he demanded.  
  
She just shook her head miserably, unable to speak. He placed a hand on her other shoulder, and she flinched again. Her shirt slipped a bit with the movement, and Roger noticed some purplish marks on her skin.  
  
Concerned, he unbuttoned her blouse and slipped the dark fabric off her shoulders. He couldn't believe what he saw. The soft whte skin was terribly bruised, almost black, above both collarbones. There was even a small amount of blood where the skin had been broken.  
  
A jolt went through Roger. "Rowan, who did this to you, what happened this morning?"  
  
A heart-rending sob escaped her. He gathered her in his strong arms, holding her tightly against him. "Rowan, please, baby, talk to me, I can't help if I don't know."  
  
Who could possibly want to harm her? he wondered. A disatisfied client? Every negotiator had those, and the courts usually handled that kind of trouble; besides, he couldn't think of anyone that angry. Maybe Seebach again? Would the reporter be that stupid? "Was it Seebach?" he asked, trying to keep his anger in check (he would kill him if it was.)  
  
"No," she whispered. "No, it was not Seebach or any of those kids he hired either." She pushed herself up and wiped the tears from her face. Her expression was unreadable.  
  
Roger smoothed back some of her loose hair. "Ro," he asked, "what did you mean when you said you were going to lose me to them? Who are you talking about? Are they the ones who did this to you?"  
  
Rowan nodded quietly, trying to compose herself. Roger waited patiently, silent; whatever was going on was too important to rush. He took one of her hands and began to absently stroke it. The gentle movement seemed to finally calm her enough to talk.  
  
"It is Paradigm, Roger...Paradigm and Alex Rosewater. You and I have been their lab rats all along, and they are concluding their little experiment."  
  
She told Roger everything Rosewater had said about the pilot program, how he (Smith) had been prepared since childhood, how she had been used to guide him. She told him how he was doomed to either a literal death if he wasn't given the new drug, or a living death if he was. Lastly, she told him of Rosewater's offer to her if she cooperated.  
  
Roger sat there stunned. The mixture of conflicting emotions was almost too much to handle - no wonder poor Rowan broke down! He realized seeing him with Big O had played into her worst fears, that he really was becoming Paradigm's to command.  
  
The way that Rosewater tried to blackmail Ro was unbelievably cruel, twisting what should have been a source of joy into a source of pain. Roger was beyond delighted to learn of his impending fatherhood, furious at the possibility of not experiencing it.   
  
"There must be something we can do," he said urgently. "We have too much at stake to let Rosewater decide our future." Roger gently placed his hand low on Rowan's belly. "I want to see our child grow up."  
  
Their gaze met, his dark eyes fixed on her green ones, as if they were tryng to read each othr's souls. Rowan finally spoke: "I do have an idea, but it will be painful for you, and I don't know if it will work."  
  
Roger shrugged. "It can't be any more painful than what you have told me. I'm willing to try anything." He stood up and held his hand out to her: "It's showtime."  
  
Ro finally smiled. They went back to the lab.   
  



	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty  
  
  
Roger soon found out that Rowan was serious about the pain. He began to feel like a human pincushion from all the needles she was sticking into him...and this was just the beginning. She needed samples of everything, it seemed: blood, urine, hair, spinal fluid, skin, semen, bone marrow - he lost count. She even snuck him into a newly-opened medical clinic owned by a trusted friend and secretly used their MRI and CT facilities.  
  
She found what she was looking for in the brain scans and spinal fluid. "My god," Ro murmured to herself, "I think I can stop this!" She woke Roger, who had been catnapping on a nearby cot. They had both been sleeping just an hour or so here and there since all this had begun.  
  
Roger sat up, still a little groggy from lack of sleep and too many lab tests. His hair was a mess, and he badly needed a shave but he was too tired to care. He rolled up one sleeve and shoved his bruised bare arm towards Ro.   
  
"Just stick it anywhere you find a vein - it all hurts," he muttered. To his surprise, Rowan kissed his hand instead of shoving a needle into it. "I think I found an answer!" she said excitedly. That woke Roger up.  
  
"You're sure?" She nodded yes. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's do it!" He got up and followed her to her worktable, which was covered with lab results, test tubes, and petri dishes. Several vials of liquid were there too, including the oily red one from Rosewater. Roger noticed some of the labwork had Gordon Rosewater's name on it. He pointed to it: "What is that here for?"  
  
Ro smiled her delicious crooked smile for the first time in days. "It's ironic, but Gordon's health problems helped provide your cure." She picked up a small bottle of colorless fluid. "This is the last batch of medicine I made for him. Combined with this" she pointed to the evil-looking red liquid, "I can stop the process in you. You won't go back to where you were before this started, but you won't lose much more of yourself either...and it will act like a vaccine. They will never be able to restart it again. You'll be free of them." She positively glowed with elation.  
  
Roger took her face in both hands. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he asked, then kissed her tenderly. "We'll beat those bastards at their own game," he continued, "so tell me what you need to do."  
  
"More needles, I'm afraid," Rowan said. "I am going to inject both of these into your spinal cord, and it is going to hurt like hell." Roger grimaced, then shrugged. "Whatever it takes," he said.  
  
Rowan turned back to her worktable and filled two hypodermics, one with clear liquid, the other with red. "take your shirt off and lie down on your stomach," she directed Roger. He returned to the cot and did so. She generously disinfected his low back with antiseptic - the cold liquid made him jump slightly.  
  
"Okay, love, be still now...I'll be as quick as I can," Rowan murmured behind him. He could feel her hand on his low back, then without warning the needle pierced him. It wasn't too bad after the initial shock, he thought, not what he had expected at all. He felt her pull it out in one smooth movement.  
  
"Last one," Rowan said, and plunged the second hypo into his back. Roger yelped - he could feel the liquid burn as it spread thorugh him. He flashed back to the darkened cockpit for a moment...this must be Rosewater's drug, he thought. After what seemed like forever, Rowan removed the second needle. She applied more antiseptic to his back, then bandaged both punctures.   
  
"Don't move," she said firmly. "You have to stay there for an hour." Daestar pulled a stool over and sat down next to him. She began to gently rub his upper back.  
  
Roger began to relax under her touch. Somehow, even the intense burning of the drug seemed less painful. Rowan started humming softly as she stroked him. It was the same tune he had heard her hum the day he'd asked her to marry him. He lost himself in the melody, letting his mind drift between memory and fantasy.  
  
Gradually Roger found himself back at the Policeman's Ball, splendid in his dress blue uniform. Rowan was in his arms, wearing a dark velvet gown that flowed like water around her body. They were dancing, gliding effortlessly across the dance floor, moving as one.  
  
The music slowed, deepened, became richer in tone as the images slowly changed. They were naked in bed together, Rowan still in his arms, sharing their passion, again moving as one in a dance as old as time. Rowan cried out his name, and suddenly he was alone in the dim red cockpit of Big O, her voice a distant echo in the surrounding darkness.  
  
Fire licked at the edges of his mind, threatening everything he held dear, burning memories like old photographs - NO, his soul roared, this shall NOT be! His fury pushed the flames back into the darkness, their acrid smell quickly fading.  
  
Slowly he became aware of cool green leaves scenting the air, cool green eyes reflecting his image. I still know you, his soul said, I know who I am, I know who you are, I know who WE are: Roger and Ro.  
  
He awoke with a start. He was still lying on his stomach. The burning was gone. He felt peaceful. More importantly, he felt whole.  
  
"Roger?" He turned towards her, closely looking at her beautiful face, her still-familiar face.  
  
"You fell asleep for a couple of hours. You can sit up if you want." Roger pushed himself up carefully from the cot. There was just the slightest ache in his low back. He reached out with one hand and gently touched her smooth cheek.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" Rowan asked tentatively. He was looking at her so strangely!  
  
Roger smiled. "You're my Rowan," he said. "I haven't forgotten. You are going to be my wife in a week. You are carrying our child." Joyfully he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap. Ro hugged his neck hard, almost afraid to believe their success.  
  
Roger began to shout: "We beat the bastards, Ro, and we're not done yet! We'll succeed despite them, and we'll use their weapon against them too! WE will command Big O, not be commanded...it will be a force for good, not evil! I promise you that, whatever else happens!"   
  
*******************************  
  
Rowan had the courier return the empty vial and used hypodermic needle to Rosewater. She had indeed complied with Alex's wishes and this was the proof he had demanded. He could have his people check the DNA on the needle. The fact that she had found a way around his expected results didn't matter. He had never said she couldn't try to do so.  
  
Roger and the Big O would be connected forever, but that was okay too. Smith freely shared this new part of himself with her now. Her fear of the Megadeus was replaced with respect. The Big was a powerful tool, and in the right hands would be a force for justice. Roger truly was destined to be its pilot, for (in Rowan's mind, at least) he was not guilty of anything, save for being pure of heart. 


	21. Chapter Twentyone

Chapter Twentyone  
  
  
It was seventytwo hours before Heaven's Day, seventytwo hours before the wedding. This was the first time for either Roger or Rowan that the holiday festivities were pleasant, rather than an annoyance. There were just a few last minute things that needed to be taken care of. Dastun had asked Roger to drop by Military Police HQ that morning. Rowan and Norman had some things to do at the school (which was closed for the holiday.) All four were going to meet for lunch.  
  
Roger entered the major's office, curious about why Dastun had been so insistant about his showing up in person. He hoped the major hadn't planned a bachelor party...those always turned out to be more embarrassing than they were worth. He knocked on the office door, then let himself in. "Well, Dastun, I'm here like you asked. What's this all about?"  
  
Dan smiled. "This is for you and Ro," he said, as he carefully placed a dusty gift-wrapped package on his desk. The foiled paper was so old it had started to turn green with age.  
  
Roger's black eyes widened in surprise. "Is this a joke?" he smirked. He touched a fragile ribbon with one gloved hand - it crumbled to dust under the slight pressure. "C'mon, Dastun, I know they don't pay you much, but this is ridiculous."  
  
The major looked down at the gift, and shrugged: "I know it looks ridiculous, but this is serious, Roger. Open it...carefully, please."  
  
Smith started to say something sarcastic, then thought better of it. Let's see what this is first, he thought, now curious. The negotiator carefully undid the the wrapping, revealing an equally old cardboard box with foreigh writing on it. He opened it and pulled out a tightly sealed crystal liquor bottle, filled with a beautiful reddish amber liquid. A small silver plaque was hung 'round its neck. Roger held it close to see the finely engraved lettering.  
  
"Read it aloud," said Dastun. Roger complied: "For our daughter Rowan on her wedding day." He looked at Dastun, unsure of what to think. "Where did you get this?" he asked. It was a magnificent gift.  
  
Dastun rubbed the back of his neck before answering. He was feeling very emotional about this and wanted to compose himself. "Hanae and Stephan, Ro's parents, entrusted that to me when the troubles started. I honestly never thought it would be opened."  
  
Dastun stuck his right hand out towards Roger. The negotiator put down the bottle and was reaching for the major's hand when the entire building shook slightly. The distant sound of fire alarms could be heard a few moments later.  
  
"What the hell?!" yelled Dastun. He pushed past Smith and grabbed the first cop in the hallway. "What was that?" he demanded.  
  
"An explosion near North Dome, sir" - that got Roger's attention fast. The school was near North Dome. "Officer," Roger asked quickly, "where exactly?" The young officer glanced at the major, who nodded yes, though puzzled himself (why would Roger care about the North Dome area? So much of it was abandoned.)  
  
"It's an empty office building, sir" the young officer answered, then gave the street address. It was the school.  
  
Roger paled, then turned towards the major: "You've got to get people out there, Dan! It's not abandoned -" He was interrupted by another officer: "He's right, sir. We found an injured man outside the building, in fact he insisted he had to talk to either you or Roger Smith." He pointed to the phone. "He's on line-2, sir; says his name is Norman Berg."  
  
Smith seized the phone and punched in line-2. "Norman? What the hell is going on?" He could hear fire engines in the background, the noise making it hard to hear Berg's words: "Master Roger, they took her! I tried to stop them, I'm so sorry sir!" There was a brief sound of muffled sobbing as the older man broke down, then managed to regain his self-control.  
  
"They used stunguns on us, sir. Before I passed out, I think I heard them say they were going to her lab to clean things up...please hurry sir, I fear for Miss Rowan!" Roger heard another voice in the background. It sounded like someone was telling Berg to get off the phone and get looked at. "Norman," Roger said quickly, "let them take care of you. I'll get her back!" He hung up the phone, his face a grim mask.  
  
"Get who back? What's going on?" the major demanded.  
  
Roger spoke fast: "Rowan had a free school in that building," (surprised dismay crossed Dastun's face) "and whoever blew it up has taken her forcibly to her lab. I'm going there now to get her back - are you coming?"  
  
Furious, Dastun nodded vigorously: "Let me get on the horn and get all the help I can - I'll be right behind you - now GO!"  
  
"Right!" Roger dashed to his Griffon. He sped through traffic, forcing other cars out of his way in his haste. He prayed he wouldn't be too late. 


	22. Chapter Twentytwo

Chapter Twentytwo  
  
  
As Rowan came to, the first thing she became aware of was a familiar pounding headache. Someone had used a stungun on her again. She groaned, tried to rub her head and realized she was tied down. "Damn," she muttered, "I am getting tired of this." She sat up straight. She was in her own office, bound to her own chair.  
  
A large man was lying on the floor in the middle of the room, his head bleeding heavily. Her brass hourglass was next to his head, the crystal broken. Her little tree was on the floor too, knocked out of its broken pot.  
  
She blinked for a moment, then the memory rushed back...she had revived faster than they had expected and had fought back fiercely. She had hit the man with the heavy timepiece and would have escaped if she hadn't been stunned again. It was a coward's weapon, used that way, she thought angrily.  
  
"You killed him, by the way," a familiar voice said behind her. A massive white-suited man moved into her line of vision. He was wearing white gloves this time.  
  
"I am sorry for the crude tactics, Dr. Daestar, but you've really left me no choice," said Alex Rosewater. He shook his head sadly. "I thought we had an understanding, but it seems you were too clever for me. That's what I get for trying to outhink the best negotiatior in Paradigm. I should have known better."  
  
He reached over to the heavy wooden desk and pulled out the small side drawer. He removed the tiny silver box she kept there and examined it admiringly. Rosewater then pulled a small plastic bag from one of his pockets, opened the box and dumped the four locks of hair into it. He returned the filled bag to his pocket.  
  
"Hey!" growled Rowan, annoyed. "Leave that alone. Those are mine!" She was too angry to be cautious anymore, fed up with his heavy-handed tactics.  
  
"Yours? Nothing is yours, foolish girl, unless I say it is." He smiled briefly. "I told you Roger Smith belonged to Paradigm, but you wouldn't listen. This," he patted her stomach, "is the result of you taking our property. Everything of Smith's is ours. Why do you insist on ignoring this simple fact? You disappoint me."  
  
Rowan's eyes widened, then narrowed, flashing green fire. "I disappoint you? I did as you asked. I injected your drug into Roger. I returned the empty bottle and needle as proof, as you requested. Traces of the drug and Roger's DNA are on it, or did your techs miss that too, like they did with your synthetic coffee? I made the RIGHT decision, as you called it. YOUR people created that drug, not me. Go harass them if you don't like the results!"  
  
She jerked at the ropes, trying to pull herself free. If she could only get her hands on that cruelly placid face of his. He was standing so close to her, looking down at her coolly. Furious, she tried to bite him. He backed away, just out of her reach.  
  
"You are quite unique, Dr. Daestar. No one else would ever dare address me that way. I am almost sorry that we will have to make an example of you. I will miss our litte chats."  
  
He pulled a white cloth from another pocket and rolled it. "You have one last little job to perform as our northstar." He slipped the cloth over her head and tried to gag her. Rowan turned and bit his hand hard - he backed off, holding the injured limb. Red stained the white glove, much to Ro's satisfaction.  
  
Alex looked down at the blood, astonished. For an instant his cold mask slipped...he almost looked like a little boy with the unexpected pain. He looked back at her - their eyes met, and for a moment Rowan thought she might have a chance to reason with him...but the moment passed too swiftly.  
  
He wagged a finger at her in admonishment. "You are the bait to recapture Roger Smith, and we will finish the job right this time." He approached her again, more carefully this time. Rowan tried to twist away from him, saying: "Your drugs won't work on him anymore, Rosewater, I've seen to that...go find someone else to destroy, leave us alone!" Alex finally got the gag tied, yanking it hard.  
  
"Don't be silly, of course it will work. As for you, you shall disappear from the memory of Paradigm. Every trace of you has been erased, even that sad little handprint in the cave...oh, and don't be concerned about the promise you made to my father. Arrangements have been made for him as well."  
  
She started yelling at him, the words strangled by the gag.  
  
"What's that you say? I'm forgetting something?" he spoke teasingly. "What could it be? Oh yes, you did inject the drug after all...so you will get to keep the child, not that it will make much of a difference after today. We won't need you anymore."   
  
He smiled thinly. "Til later, then." He left, using the service elevator. 


	23. Chapter Twentythree

Chapter Twentythree  
  
  
The garage was empty when the Griffon arrived.   
  
Roger decided to use the main elevator. He would probably have a better chance of surprise if he came in through the front. He found hmself wishing for his old service revolver - he would have to depend on his wits and his fists this time.  
  
The elevator door opened and Roger stepped into the golden alcove. The nameplate on the office door was missing. So were the mirror, the lacquered table, and the white orchids. He assumed Norman had removed them. The office door was locked. The apartment door was slightly ajar.  
  
Roger entered cautiously, not sure what to expect. His footsteps clicked on the slate floor. He stood there stunned. The place had been stripped to the bare walls.  
  
The light was wrong too, cold, grey, streaming mercilessly through the glass panes of the now empty greenhouse. Rowan's tame jungle, green and sweet-scented, was gone too. It was eerily quiet. All he heard was the anxious pounding of his own heart.  
  
Every room was the same. Any sign of habitation, any sign of Rowan, had vanished. Only the painted summer sky in the bedroom remained.  
  
Roger next went into the lab. This was empty too. His footsteps echoed on the cold tile floor mockingly. Was he too late? He buried the thought, knowing he had to go on. There was only one place left to look - her office.  
  
He went to the door leading to the storage/passageway between the lab and the office. It was unlocked. Roger pulled it open.   
  
There was evidence of a battle here. The file cabinets (though also empty) had been tossed about and dented, paint had been scraped off the walls, there was torn fabric caught on the open drawers. There was a bright smear of blood, still fairly fresh, on the door before him.  
  
He restrained himself from rushing in (not knowing who or what waited on the other side) and quietly opened it a bit.  
  
The lifeless body of a giant of a man lay before him. His head was smashed, presumably by the broken hourglass beside him. The fine white sand had spilled out, and was turning red from the blood still seeping from the wound. Ro's tiny tree lay near him too, its container shattered. There was absolutely no sound.   
  
Roger, still hidden by the door, closed his eyes and grimaced. Had he just missed them? Steeling himself for the worst, he pushed the door open and strode out. A muffled sound made him turn towards the desk.  
  
Roger's heart leaped when he saw Rowan. He dashed towards her. He undid the gag first, kissing her bruised mouth, then started working on the heavily knotted rope binding her to the chair.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked, struggling with the intricate knots. "Yes," she answered, " but we have to get out of here fast. They are using me as bait to trap you. Rosewater is crazy, Roger - I don't know how we are going to stop him."  
  
Roger got one of her hands free. She started to work on her other hand while he undid the ropes around her waist and legs. It felt like hours before she was freed. Roger grabbed her hand - "Let's get out of here," and started to pull her towards the side door...when they heard a metallic click.  
  
The tall man before them was a twin to the corpse. He was aiming a tranquilizer gun at them. He fired.  
  
Rowan stepped in front of Roger instinctively. If he was knocked out, neither of them had a chance. The drug-filled dart hit her squarely over her heart, the needle penetrating deeply.  
  
"Ro!" gasped Roger. "I'm okay, don't let him reload," she replied urgently. She didn't tell him the drug had already started to enter her, or that the liquid was red and oily.  
  
Smith turned and leaped over the desk, attacking the gunman like a tiger. (He didn't see Rowan try to pull out the dart, only to have the needle snap off, then crumple to to the floor as the drug took effect.) He smashed his gloved fists into the man's face repeatedly, releasing months of pent-up fury.  
  
He would have cheerfully killed the man if two police officers hadn't dragged him off. Roger struggled to get free, even as two other officers cuffed the gunman. The negotiator seemed entranced with rage until Dastun hit him in the shoulder to get his attention.  
  
"Roger," growled the major, "if you kill him we'll never know who's responsible, and I'll have to take you in for murder." Dan watched as the crazed look in Roger's eyes faded.  
  
"I know who's responsible," said the younger man sullenly. He finally stopped struggling. Dan nodded to the two cops, and they released the negotiator.  
  
"You know your word alone won't be good enough for the courts. We need him too." Dan gestured towards the prisoner. The officers hustled the bloodied man out the front door.  
  
"Besides," Dastun continued, "I don't think Rowan would like you spending your wedding day in jail. Where is she? Have you found her?" He looked anxious.  
  
"Of course, she's right over there..." Roger turned towards the desk. She was nowhere to be seen. "But that's not possible..." he ran over to the desk.  
  
Rowan was collapsed on the floor.  
  
"Dan, call the EMTs!" he yelled. Dastun peered over the desk - "Oh my god," he muttered - then got on his radio calling for medical help A.S.A.P.  
  
Smith sat down beside her and felt for her pulse. It was so fast that he couldn't make out the individual beats. What had she been injected with? It couldn't have been a tranquilizer.  
  
He lifted her into his lap, so that she was leaning up against him. As he moved her, a tiny vial fell out of her hand. Roger picked it up. An oily red residue clung to its inner surface. It was the drug he had originally been given. Worse, where was the needle portion of the dart? He opened her blouse. There was a tiny spot of blood directly over her heart. The needle had broken off inside her.   
  
Dastun came over with some cold water and handed it to the negotiator. He watched anxiously as Roger daubed Rowan's face, trying to revive her. To the relief of both men, she started to move, and finally opened her eyes. Roger gave her some of the water to drink. She started to take a deep breath, then winced in pain. Ro looked down at the wound and touched it in surprise (Alex didn't take my heart, she thought) then looked back at Roger.  
  
Rowan touched his face. "Are you okay, love? Did we escape?" she asked him softly.  
  
Roger bent his head towards her: "Yes, sweetheart, yes. You were hurt a little, but we're getting help, they'll be here soon." He glanced up at Dastun, who mouthed the words, "They're coming."  
  
Rowan nodded. "Tell them to use the medicine locked in the third cabinet on the top shelf," she said. "That's the only antidote, he didn't use a tranquilizer."  
  
She snuggled up against Roger. "I feel so hot," she murmured.  
  
A chill went through Roger at her words. There was no third cabinet anymore. The lab, with its rows of plant-based medicines, was empty.  
  
"Rowan," he whispered, "what else can we use?" Her skin was beginning to flush slightly. She felt feverish. "Rowan, please talk to me," he begged. He hugged her tightly, rocking her like a child.  
  
She opened her beautiful green eyes, but seemed to have a little trouble focusing on him. A serious expression passed over her face: "Roger, please keep your promise to me whatever happens, the promise you made about using Big O only for good, to protect the people. I don't think I'll be able to help anymore, you'll have to do it for me. Please, love." She spoke so quietly he could barely hear her.  
  
Roger shushed her with a kiss on her soft mouth. "Nothing is going to happen. Besides, you promised to always be with me, and you always keep your word."  
  
The pained look on her face startled him.  
  
"Okay," he said, "I swear I'll keep my promise - my word is as good as yours - that's why we're the best negotiators in town."  
  
She smiled at that, and seemed to relax a bit in his arms. Roger smoothed her black hair from her face, then looked back at Dastun (who was standing impatiently by the front door, talking urgently into his radio.) "Damn it, Dastun, where are they?" he yelled.  
  
"They had another emergency - the prisoner committed suicide. He had a cyanide capsule in a tooth. They're coming up now," replied Dastun. The scarred vein on his head was throbbing like it would burst. He went back over to Smith.  
  
Roger was cradling Rowan tenderly in his arms, whispering something to her that made her smile. Dan had never seen such a loving expression on anyone's face before; Roger Smith was the last person he would ever have expected it from. They were a good match, these two. Once they got through this, they could get through anything, he thought.  
  
As Dan watched, he noticed Rowan suddenly jerk slightly (as if she'd been shocked with electricity) then fall limp in Roger's arms. The young man sat there stunned for a moment, holding her like a rag doll. "Rowan?" pleaded Roger softly, "Rowan, please baby, answer me." Silence.  
  
He stretched Ro out onto the floor and started doing CPR on her. Tears were streaming down his handsome face as he worked frantically on her.   
  
The med techs finally arrived with all their equipment and brusquely moved Roger out of the way.  
  
They checked her vital signs first. One of the techs hooked up a monitor of some sort to her, then set up an I.V. drip. The other placed an oxygen mask over her face. He then pulled open her shirt to better examine the tiny wound. He carefully sliced open the smooth skin to get a better grip on the needle. He pulled it out with some difficulty.  
  
The other tech charged the defibrillating paddles, the shrill whine filling the room. "Back," he said, and applied them to the motionless form before him. There was no change. The monitor readings remained flat. He attempted again, using a higher charge. Still nothing.  
  
The other tech injected something into Ro, then stepped back as the the first man applied the paddles a third time to work their modern magic.  
  
There was no response. She was flat-lined.  
  
"Keep trying," begged Roger. "Can't you give her something, another drug, more oxygen, ANYTHING, please don't give up!"  
  
"I'm truly sorry, sir," the EMT shook his head. "There's nothing more we can do." The other tech opened up a collapsable stretcher. They started to put Rowan onto it.  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Roger pushed them away from her, cuddled her lifeless body in his arms.  
  
"Wake up, Ro, please wake up, don't die now!" He caressed her face, her body, buried his face in her hair. "You promised," he whispered.  
  
Dastun, his own grim face wet with tears, gently tugged Roger away, letting the EMTs finish their sad job. Roger stood there, utterly stricken, as they covered her with a white cloth and carried her out of the room.  
  
The expression on Roger's face burned itself into Dan's brain. It was the look of a man who had seen the true face of hell. His black eyes seemed empty pits of darkness, his face the color of ashes. It was as if Roger's soul had died with Rowan. 


	24. Chapter Twentyfour

Chapter Twentyfour  
  
  
Heaven's Day dawned grey, clear, cold. It was to have been Smith and Daestar's wedding day. Instead it was the day of Rowan's funeral.  
  
The services were held in the chapel they had picked to be married in. It was filled with the aromatic pink and white wild roses she loved so much. Her simple casket was open for a final viewing.  
  
The would-be wedding guests paid their respects, each attempting to comfort the three people who knew and loved her best: her friend Norman Berg, her surrogate-father Dan Dastun, her lover Roger Smith. A seemingly endless line of nameless mourners followed after them, all people Rowan had helped thorugh her school, or as a negotiator, or as a doctor. Alex Rosewater had not succeeded in wiping her from the memory of Paradigm, at least not yet.  
  
Norman and Dan wept openly, without shame. Rowan had offered Berg her hand in friendship, giving him opportunities he never would have had otherwise. No one else had given the one-eyed man a second thought. For Dan it had been a double loss, for she had been like a daughter to him, and a living reminder of the two dear friends he'd lost so long ago.  
  
Roger was in shock. He couldn't cry. He couldn't think. He sat quietly, looking at the floor, his hands deep in his pockets. He was the last person to go up to the casket.  
  
Berg and Dastun watched him anxiously. They were both afraid for him. It wasn't everyday a man had his heart torn out and lived.  
  
The young man walked slowly to the casket, his face an emotionless mask. Roger forced himself to look. This was the first time he'd seen Rowan in her wedding gown. His face softened; she looked like a fairy tale princess, waiting for her prince to wake her with a kiss.  
  
Smith fumbled in his pocket, then pulled out a small silk handkerchief and a red ring box. He carefully unfolded the silk cloth. It held a lock of his hair. Roger slipped it into her right hand: "I will always be with you," he said softly.  
  
He opened up the ring box and removed the larger ring. He slipped this onto her right thumb: "Hold that for me until we're together again."  
  
Lastly, he slipped the smaller band onto her left ring finger: "You are my wife, for now and for always," he murmured.  
  
He gently laid his hand on her belly, thinking of the child he would never know, then kissed her cold lips. "Remember, Roger and Ro," he whispered.   
  
*********************************************  
  
At the cemetary, Roger planted the tiny rowan tree beside the fresh grave with his bare hands.  
  
He didn't say a word to either Berg or Dastun on the long ride home. Once they arrived at the mansion, Roger finally invited Dan up for a drink. While waiting in the living room, Dastun spotted Rowan's great wooden desk in Roger's office. Her broken hourglass was on top of it.  
  
Smith brought out the crystal decanter of foreign brandy Dastun had given him and opened it. He poured a snifter full for Dastun, Berg, and himself. The other two men looked at him, aghast.  
  
Roger held up his glass. "To Rowan, gentlemen, and other lost dreams." He clinked his glass against theirs. Dastun and Berg looked at each other, then at Roger. "To Rowan," they both said.  
  
All three took a gulp of the reddish amber liquor. It burned pleasantly going down, with a rich round taste no modern distillery could match. It had been a perfect choice for Rowan, thought Dan. Truly she had been her parents' daughter. They had recognized how unique she was and picked the wine to match her. He blinked hard, not wanting to cry again.  
  
Roger was refilling his own wineglass, and offered more to both Dastun and Berg. Neither man accepted. Berg excused hemself. He couldn't bear this any longer and needed privacy to mourn. Dan would have to work the next day, and didn't need a hangover to add to his pain.  
  
"Do you want to talk?" the major asked, watching his friend fill the glass a third time.  
  
Roger stopped and looked hard at Dan. "No," he said calmly. "I don't want to talk. I don't ever want to talk about what might have happened, or what did happen. I never want to talk about this ever again. I can't do it. I only want to get drunk. You are welcome to join me."  
  
Dastun shook his head no. He picked up his hat. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," the major said sadly. He wondered if Smith would last the night.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Roger took the decanter into the bedroom. He sat on the floor, before the fireplace, watching the flames dance as he polished off the bottle. He remembered how the flames would turn Rowan's green eyes gold - stop it, he growled at himself.  
  
He got up and opened his closet. He started going through his clothes, pulling out anything that wasn't black or white.  
  
There would be no more color in his life now, no blue painted skies, no pink and white roses, no green leaves or emerald eyes.   
  
He dragged everything to the incinerator entrance in the hallway and threw it all down, every expensive hand-sewn bit of it, to be consumed into ashes. Black clothing would be the rule in his house now.  
  
Blindly, he pulled everything out of Rowan's closet and threw that all away too, until he came to the dark gown she wore the night they met. Her scent was still on it, faint and dreamlike. Roger buried his face in the dress. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes and throat. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel anything. He needed some air.  
  
Roger walked out onto the terrace. He could hear distant music playing from a nightclub somewhere, where people were celebrating the holiday. He walked to the ledge and watched the twinkling lights glowing festively in the darkness.  
  
He climbed onto the wall and sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. It would be so easy, he thought...when a deliciously accented female voice came from behind him: "What are you doing, love?"  
  
Every hair on Roger's neck stood up. He felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. Wide-eyed, he turned around towards that sweet voice.  
  
Rowan stood before him, clear as day. She was wearing the tight jeans and snug black t-shirt he liked so much on her. Her inky hair was loose, gleaming under the holiday lights.  
  
She offered her right hand to him (his wedding ring was on her thumb) and smiled. "Come down from there, you might fall off, silly."  
  
Roger looked at her, dumbfounded. "Well," she said, "I'm not going to bite, unless you want me to." She took his hand and tugged him back to safety. This isn't possible, Roger thought, feeling the cool firm touch of her hand on his. I am either crazy, or dreaming, or drunk, or...dead. He didn't remember jumping from the ledge.  
  
Rowan laughed gently. "You are drunk," she said, answering his silent question. She kissed him, then brushed his messy hair from his face. Her expression grew serious. "You can't kill yourself, Roger. You made a promise to me, and you must keep it."  
  
"That's easy for you to say," grumbled Roger. "You didn't keep your promise - you died. How could you do that to me?" He traced the delicate bones of her jaw with his hand. She turned her face towards the palm of his hand and kissed it.  
  
"I didn't want to die," she said, "but I will keep my promise. I will always be with you, right here," and she touched his heart.   
  
********************************************  
  
Roger never spoke of Rowan again. He returned to his sarcastic, flirtatious ways, making Dastun speculate just who the real Roger Smith was.  
  
The relationship between the two men never really recovered. Dan often wondered if Roger somehow blamed him for Rowan's death, because the EMTs were too busy with a dead prisoner to rush to her aid.  
  
The only clue Dastun had regarding Roger's true feelings came about a year later.  
  
Dan found himself driving near the cemetary late one afternoon. He decided to visit Rowan's grave. He usually went in the evening after work, but he had meetings scheduled with his superiors that night.   
  
As he approached, he spotted a black-clad figure kneeling by the small headstone, brushing off the leaves that had fallen from the now-lofty rowan tree. Curious, the major crept close, using some tall hedgerows as cover.  
  
It was Roger Smith. He was talking to the headstone (Dan couldn't make out the words) then bent down and kissed the polished granite. The negotiator then got up, brushed off his trousers, and rapidly left.  
  
Dan never tried to say another word to Roger about her after that. He still wondered how the young man got through the lonely nights.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Epilogue: Roger's Dream (Three Years Later)  
  
  
Roger awoke with a start, his heart pounding as if it would leap from his chest. It had been that nightmare again, that awful soul-killing recurring nightmare - it always seemed so real!  
  
He wiped the cold sweat from his face, then almost fearfully turned on his side on the great bed. To his relief, Rowan was there beside him, peacefully asleep.  
  
He moved next to her still body, cuddling her against his bare chest. Rowan stirred, sighed, smiled, but didn't wake. Roger softly kissed her shoulder. He slipped his hands beneath the borrowed pajama top and gently stroked her, caressing her belly well-rounded with their first child.  
  
It wasn't real, just a bad dream, Roger thought gratefully. We're still here, Roger and Ro.  
  
He kissed the back of her neck, buried his face in her silky hair, filling his lungs with her clean scent. Thank god.....  
  
And then the music began. The insistant, demonic piano music. It got louder and louder, tearing apart Roger's bliss.   
  
NO! he cried out, please no...Rowan faded before his eyes, swallowed by daylight and furious music.  
  
He huddled in the center of the great bed, alone, buried under the black blanket. He thought of his Rowan buried alone under the black earth.  
  
He had to pull himself together, his anger at his loss fueling him to face the day.  
  
He feared what the new female in his life would ask him today. R. Dorothy Wayneright. Always questioning, like Rowan, but such different questions. Queries about what it was to be human, what it was to love. Two questions Rowan knew all the answers to. Two questions he couldn't bear to face, today of all days. He would probably get very drunk tonight.   
  
It was Heaven's Day.  
  
No Side.  
  
*************************************************************************************************  
Author's Notes:If this was actually part of the series, the Epilogue would take place during the time span covered in "Daemon Seed." If you have that available to view, please note the following:1) Dorothy is directed to the funeral section of a department store to get Roger's   
gift.  
  
2) When Dorothy meets Roger in the street, the following conversation takes place:  
D: "You seem mad about something."  
R: "I don't care much for the scenery in town."  
D: "You don't like Heaven's Day?"  
R: "There's no logic to my behavior. It comes from emotions you wouldn't   
understand."  
  
3) At the dinnertable, Dorothy ask questions about the history and customs of Heaven's   
Day:  
N: "Another tradition exists where you give presents to the one you love."  
D: "Will you be giving a present to anyone, Roger Smith?"  
R: (chokes on glass of wine) "Preposterous! Do you think I'd waste my time doing   
that? After all, Heaven's Day began as a celebration for when Paradigm was  
founded. Why would anyone who has foresaken Paradigm even think of celebrating  
a day like that?"  
  
As usual, Roger is first ducking the questions R. Dorothy is asking, then over-reacting. Obviously she has hit a sore point. This made me wonder, what if he once had someone to love, and their loss was somehow tied to Heaven's Day? This story was the result.  
  
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the creators of "Big O," Sunrise, and Bandai, except for the following: Jim Webster, the Mooney family, the Van der Arc family, Hanae Daestar, Stephan Daestar, and Rowan Daestar. These characters are solely my property. 


End file.
